


Draconite Tales

by SentaShadowWing



Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Violence
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-10-04
Updated: 2017-05-28
Packaged: 2018-04-24 19:40:52
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 45
Words: 80,703
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4932754
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SentaShadowWing/pseuds/SentaShadowWing
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Enter my world of Dragon Age: Inquisition, where a brand new species is discovered and a hidden society comes to light.</p><p>Join our main character, Senta Shadow-Wing, on her journey of love, betrayal and self discovery, as she stumbles her way through the daily trials and tribulations attributed to being a member of the fabled Inquisition!</p><p>My first ever work and still a work in progress</p><p>I hope you enjoy :) </p><p>Comments are welcome!</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Book

  

Crisp, blue skies stretched out in every direction, dwarfing the mountain peaks far below me; with Skyhold, the most majestic fortress you have ever seen and home to the Inquisition, nestled safely among them.

I welcomed the biting wind as it ripped past me, buffeting my face and ears, rendering thought impossible. That was exactly what I wanted; to erase the image of honey coloured eyes, beseeching, searching my soul, seeking answers I could not give. Not then.

I shook my head in agitation, trying desperately to rid my mind of the memory dancing just beyond my reach; taunting me. The unexpected events of last night at the Winter Palace, when all of the Inquisitor’s dealings were taken care of, plague my mind at every waking moment.

With an angry shout at the skies, I beat my wings of darkest shadow as hard as I could, rising ever higher until I could beat no more. Levelling out, I let my wings hold me as I glided gently over the mountains, following their path as they cut through the Frostbacks.

I was waiting. Waiting for the storm I knew would come. I had secrets - big ones - and that night, Cullen, my new-found lover and the man I have held the deepest feelings for all this time, would know them all.

Only a few hours earlier, I had given Cullen my most prized possession. A book, bound in dragon-hide, with a sign - a pair of wings facing forwards and stretching upwards - emblazoned on the front. This was a sign of respect, a sign of power... the sign of my people.

Daily life of my village dwells within those pages, our customs, our beliefs - images and diagrams fashioned by mine own hand. None of which would be called “ordinary”.

I am, in fact, a Draconite. An ancient breed, human in appearance, with one little difference… a pair of scaly wings as black as night sprout from between my shoulder-blades, with thick, tough webbing that form the membranes. Not all of my people are born with the blessing of flight, no, the wingless are born with a different gift - a dragon. Each are conceived at the very same moment, as if tied by fate, living and dying together; linked by an unbreakable bond. Winglies and wingless alike live under the rule of a mighty leader - the Alpha - a dragon larger and more powerful than any seen in the wild today. Me.

How you ask?

I have a very special ability that sets me far apart from my subjects. I am both human and dragon. I hold the ability to change between each form at will, a power not seen since ancient times. I am by no means a mage and as a human, I cannot wield magic in the usual way. The forces that I am able to manifest are raw and highly unstable, sourced from the burning rage, deep within the dragon blood running through my veins. I am not bound to one particular element like the others. Instead, I can harness the power of them all. That is why I am Alpha and why no challenger has yet succeeded in overthrowing my claim.

We are a secret people living peacefully behind our magic wards and clever misdirection, but now Corypheus, an ancient magister from the north, threatens all of Thedas and I must break our ancient traditions to seek a powerful alliance that will ensure the survival of my kin. That is why I had decided to leave my village in the care of Alek Firestorm, my second in command, and join the Inquisition. All at Skyhold were completely unaware of my true identity - until now.

 

~

 

Cullen paced restlessly back and forth in his office, his left hand planted firmly on the hilt of his longsword strapped to his waist, while the other dishevelled his usually perfect, golden mane.

“Maker, what do I do?” Rubbing his face, he ceased his incessant prowling and, dismissing the images of the previous night brought unbidden to his mind, he turned suddenly towards his desk. Slamming both hands onto the solid oak surface, he cursed aloud as the desk suddenly tilted from underneath him. Casting around frantically, he checked each leg in turn, finally pulling from the last a folded piece of parchment.

“Sera!” He growled under his breath, “now is not the time for your confounded pranks!”.

Sighing, he threw the folded piece of parchment onto the desk where it landed next to an open book. Try as he may, Cullen could not avert his eyes from the content within. Scowling and marking himself for a fool, he made up his mind. Grabbing the book from where it lay, he stormed from his office, slamming the door unceremoniously behind him.

This matter must be brought to the attention of the Inquisitor immediately.

 

 


	2. A Tough Decision

 

Cullen made his way to the War Room where he knew the Inquisitor was busy studying the large maps of all Orlais and Ferelden, planning their next expedition. Marching along the stone walkway, he passed into the rotunda, which was covered with beautiful murals that he would have stopped to admire if given the time. He threw a brusque nod at Solas, a mysterious and extremely knowledgeable apostate, as he went.

Solas recognised the stern look upon their commander’s face and as he gently returned the nod, he silently wondered what had forced Cullen into such a high temper.

 _All will come to light soon, I’m sure he thought,_ as he watched the commander’s retreating back. After a moment of contemplation, he turned back to his studies.

Immediately after leaving the rotunda, Cullen was accosted by papers waving back and forth in his face. Following the hand downwards he met Varric’s smiling, dwarven features.

“Curly!” He exclaimed “I’ve been looking everywhere for you! I need your input on some research I’m doing for my latest book.”

Grunting, Cullen smartly sidestepped Varric and pushed on towards the War Room, which was only across the hall.

“Another time, Varric - I have important business to attend to with the Inquisitor”.

If he could just make it without attracting anyone else’s attention.

“Well, shit!” Varric’s disgruntled remark followed Cullen across the hall.

Now, entering the last room he must traverse, he took a quick moment to studiously scan the space for Josephine. After the Winter Palace, she was the last person he wanted to meet right now. Noting that she was nowhere to be seen, he took a couple of tentative steps forward. Hearing his approaching footsteps, Josephine straightened up from picking up some papers that had fluttered to the floor behind her desk.

“Commander! I’ve been meaning to speak with you!”

Pinching the bridge of his nose in agitation, Cullen remarked under his breath between clenched teeth.

“You and everyone else…”.

Completely bulldozing over his comment, she walked excitedly over to where he was standing and studied her clipboard, quill poised.

“I have requests for information on your lineage from a few… interested parties at the Winter Palace”.

Completely taken aback, Cullen spluttered “Andraste preserve me! Feel free to use those requests as kindling!”

Looking up sharply from her clipboard, Josephine chastised Cullen. “I will do no such thing! Of course the nobles must never find out about your little escapade on that balcony… luckily the Inquisitor was with The Iron Bull and was able to stop him before he could announce what they saw to the entire palace! Honestly Commander, I don’t know how you could have been so careless! You could have at least found a room…?”

A deep blush began burning it’s way up Cullen’s neck and cheeks at Josephine’s words. “Maker! Does the whole world know!? It was supposed to be a secluded balcony…” Catching himself, he hurriedly added “Enough of this! I have important business with the Inquisitor and I do not have time to discuss my… wonderings... with you!”.

He quickly turned for the door so he did not have to see the small smirk creeping across Josephine’s face.

“Of course, Commander”.

Leaning against the closed door, he took a moment to breath deeply and calm himself. That moment on the balcony was just as sudden and unexpected to him as anyone else. The burning passion he had felt for that woman both shocked and awed him. He had wanted her so much that night, it had driven all thought and caution from his mind. Only Bull’s shouting and goading from the balcony across the courtyard had brought him crashing back to his senses. Bull and the Inquisitor, who was standing at his side, had seen it all.

Cullen groaned inwardly as he remembered his lover’s laughing eyes as he had turned back to her in utter disbelief.

Looking down at the book in his hands, with the outstretched wings emblazoned on the front, he wondered how the Inquisitor would take this latest development. Steeling himself for what was to come, he crossed the hall to where the massive double doors marked the entrance to the War Room and knocked. The Inquisitor’s voice floated out to him from within.

“Enter!”

 

 

 


	3. A Rough Landing

 

Many hours had passed since my aggravated circuit of Skyhold and not once did I touch down.

I had since subjected myself to rigorous training exercises to hone my aerobatic skills; twisting and turning, feinting suddenly left and right and performing freefalls from blood-chilling heights, pulling up at the last possible moment before becoming an unidentifiable paste far below on the valley floor.

Now, exhausted, I forced myself to return to Skyhold’s battlements with a less than graceful landing.

As my feet touched the well-worn stone, my knees buckled beneath me and with the force of the landing still urging my body forwards, I was sent sprawling in a bundle of arms and legs. I lay there crumpled against the battlement wall for a moment, whimpering and cursing.

Suddenly a pop sounded, like time and space itself were forced aside to make way for the figure standing beside me.

“Skin burning, muscles bruised and aching - why do I do this to myself?” He muttered as he bent down next to me. “Hold still - I can help”.

“Trust me, Cole” I said in a muffled voice “I’m not going anywhere”.

After helping to untangle me, he pulled me to my feet and produced a water-skin from seemingly out of nowhere.

Holding it out to me he chanted “Cold, running, tinkling, shimmering… it soothes the thirst - here, drink this!”.

Liberating the water-skin from Cole’s outstretched hand, I took a long draught, groaning blissfully as the life giving water coated my parched throat. Cuffing the trickles roughly from my mouth, I turned to Cole with a wide smile.

“Thank you, Cole. It still amazes me how you know just what we need”.

Tilting his head quizzically at me, with his massive hat rammed low across his brow, he said, “I am Compassion - I am meant to know”.

My smile quickly changed into a slightly baffled look, as I tried to grasp for a change of subject to cover the lengthening silence; Cole staring through me all the while in his usual, unsettling way. I shifted uncomfortably under his gaze and my eyes began to wander across Skyhold’s grounds. I couldn’t help but notice the utter lack of guards on duty; Skyhold was all but deserted. Fingers of unease began to creep through me, working their way inwards, as I became aware of the impenetrable silence. Only the crackle of the lit sconces, placed intermittently along the battlements, could be heard.

Turning warily to the young man beside me, I asked “Where is everyone, Cole?”.

Finally his vacant stare left me and was directed towards the throne room.

“In there…” he said “they are waiting for you” and with that, he was gone.

Probing my wounds from the fall and rubbing grit from my clothes, I walked slowly down the steps from the battlements, testing each step in case my legs were to fail me again. Passing Skyhold’s tavern, the Herald’s Rest, I noted with growing apprehension that music was no longer wafting out from inside. With trepidation settled deep into my heart like a cold and slippery mass, I pulled my wings tightly against my body and walked onwards towards the towering staircase that led to the throne room.

Upon reaching the top of the stairs, I paused for a moment to try and rub some warmth back into my arms. Gooseflesh had bobbled up on my skin and refused to subside. I cursed myself for allowing this weakness to consume me; my clan would disown me, quite violently I assure you, if they saw me now.

The truth is, I was terribly afraid of what lay beyond. Afraid of the accusing stares, the disgust, the fear - the failure to accomplish my goal. But mostly, I was afraid that I would never see those golden, brown eyes looking at me with such intensity ever again. That they would look through me instead, unrecognizing and lost, with whatever fire that had burned there, searing hot before, now extinguished. I have never been ashamed of who, or what, I am - but that - I could not bear it.

Sucking in a shaky breath, I plunged through the door into the void.

 

~

 

Darkness had fallen outside, so when I entered the throne room, it took a moment for my eyes to adjust to the bright light thrown off by the many braziers crackling cosily around the large space. However, ‘cosy’ was an illusion.

All around hundreds of eyes had turned simultaneously towards me at the sound of my entrance. As I gazed around in bewilderment at the masses of people clustered here and there, I saw no compassion within their stares. Instead, as my eyes passed over them, I saw a mother quickly pull her young child protectively between her breasts, as if she thought I would grow fangs and devour it right there before her eyes. A guard, that I had joked and laughed with only that morning, kept his hand poised above his sword hilt, ready to draw at  a moment's notice. He sneered at me as our eyes met.

Then, the doors to the throne room clanged shut behind me with a tone of finality. Whirling around from where I stood, I saw four guards - two from each side - had closed in to stand sentry; armed to the teeth with the Inquisition’s finest weapons and armour.

 _As if that would save them!_ I thought savagely.

I quashed the anger quickly before it could manifest into something greater - something deadly.  

“What is going on here!?” I growled, a little more menacingly than I had intended; my wings - not spread, but raised and ready - vibrated silently with tension.

The people around me shrunk back like a single entity, recoiling from a dangerous snake. Guards all around held onto their swords a little tighter.

Suddenly, like a wave, the crowd broke apart cutting a clear pathway through the centre of the room, towards the Inquisitor’s throne.

Simple and quite small, the Inquisitor’s throne was lined with razor sharp blades across its crest and along the outside of it’s armrests. Minimal in design, yet screaming of the Inquisition’s power - it was a monstrosity. Lounging within the embrace of sharpened steel, was the Inquisitor herself. Leaning forwards, she fixed me with a stare as pitiless and unforgiving as the throne she sat upon.

“So, Deceiver - you have come…”

 

 

 


	4. Duty

 

The Inquisitor was a beautiful woman, with a shock of red hair and eyes as pale and cold as a glacier. She stared down at the winged woman from where she sat, with barely concealed contempt. She had little patience for liars and deceivers and, as far as she was concerned, this woman before her was both.

Also - the Inquisitor would never have anyone know this, but the bitch had stolen her Commander’s heart right from her grasp. That was something she could not forgive so easily. The Deceiver had no idea that she had done this, of course, but the Inquisitor could see from her lofty throne that the Commander was shifting uncomfortably where he stood, hidden, trying desperately to catch The Deceiver’s attention and convey his deepest regret for what he had done.

 _The man loves her_ she thought bitterly _but he knows his duty._

She smiled gently down at the woman and gestured for her to approach the stairs that led to her throne. The Deceiver walked forwards cautiously, two guards falling behind her, and halted just shy of the first stair. She stared up defiantly at the Inquisitor with her lips pulled back in a snarl, marring her pretty features.

The Inquisitor smiled inwardly and thought _She has not yet caught sight of Cullen - this is good! I will knock that self-satisfied look off her face. I will ensure this hurts a great deal, of that you can be sure._

Josephine was about to approach the Inquisitor to announce The Deceiver’s crimes, as was custom, when the Inquisitor’s hand shot out stopping her in her tracks.

“Inquisitor…?” She ventured tentatively.

Reaching behind her back, the Inquisitor pulled out a book bound in dragon-hide and placed it upon her lap for all to see. Mutters broke out all around as members of the Inquisition, and nobles alike, scrabbled for a better view.

“I think…” The Inquisitor began “that our Commander would be better suited for today - wouldn't you say?”

A deathly silence fell around the hall as the Inquisitor met Cullen’s stony gaze. She couldn't help herself - a wide and sinister grin spread across her face.

 

~

 

Cullen could not believe this was happening. The Inquisitor had given no indication that this would be required of him. She was doing this to spite him and to hurt the woman that, he now realised, he loved.

He had not known just how deeply his feelings ran for this woman until the doors had slammed shut behind her and the fear she was feeling became so apparent. His heart had constricted so tightly in his chest that he could have choked. He had fought the desperate need the clutch at his chestplate and had, instead, fisted his hands tightly by his sides until he felt his nails break into his calloused skin.

At that moment, when the Inquisitor smiled so wolfishly, he had never felt so much hatred for a person. Not even since the time when, during the Fifth Blight, he was held prisoner in that god forsaken Circle of Magi and tortured until his will had hung by a single thread.

When he saw that grin spread unchecked across the Inquisitor’s face, he allowed his hatred to flow freely between them, but, she was the Inquisitor and he, her subject. Ultimately,  he had no choice - it was his duty. He climbed the stairs slowly towards the Inquisitor, dragging out every step as much as possible. As soon as he broke away from the main crowd, he chanced a quick glance back at the woman he loved. When his eyes happened upon her face and saw the utter anguish there, he screwed his eyes shut and wished fervently that he had not looked.

 _Maker forgive me…_ he prayed.

 

~

 

Tears burned at the back of my eyes, threatening to fall, as I watched Cullen’s ascension to the Inquisitor’s side. Nothing I could describe would come close to the confusion and crushing grief that I felt, as I realised Cullen’s betrayal.

My mouth hung agape stupidly, as my vision doubled and the overwhelming fatigue I had felt earlier, upon my return to Skyhold, sent me crashing to my knees. This was no welcoming committee. This was a trial - no - a judgement!

What had I done? The book was meant for Cullen’s eyes alone, but now I was betrayed and the wrath of the Inquisition would surely find it’s way to my people. What did I think to expect? That the Inquisition would accept what was known to be a wild, unstable and highly volatile beast? Welcome me, a dragon, with wide open arms? What a fool I had been, blinded by the idea of love - and now - I had doomed them all.

With a numb and heavy heart, I stayed kneeling before the inquisitor with my chin drooping against my chest. Totally spent and defeated, tears coursed freely down my cheeks. Feeling unmoored and completely alone, despite the presence of the crowd behind me, scenting blood and shivering in anticipation with baited breath; I awaited my judgement.

 

 

 


	5. The Trial

 

 

Cullen stood uncomfortably just below and to the side of the Inquisitor. He gave one more furious look at her, mentally screaming his deep disapproval, but the Inquisitor merely sat smiling serenely at him. Then, standing tall with authority, he began to speak.

“Inquisitor… before you stands Senta Shadow-Wing. Her crimes, for which she is accused, are: deceiving the Inquisition as to her true identity, manipulating the Inquisition to her own means - “

At this, Senta’s head snapped up and a vicious snarl ripped from her throat. Her eyes blazed with a fierce yellow light, as she suddenly made to rise in a burst of rage. The two guards standing behind her leapt forward, grabbed her by the shoulders and fought to pin her back down onto her knees. Everyone drew back with a gasp of horror.

It was only for a heart-stopping moment, when exhaustion swept over her again and she fell back to her knees; her head sagging back onto her chest. Now, the guards were on high alert and their fingers dug cruelly into the pressure points on either side of her collar bone.

A little shaken by this display and feeling more and more like an ass at every passing minute, Cullen visibly collected himself and ploughed on.

“And finally… subjecting the Inquisition, unbeknownst to us, to terrible danger...”

Senta’s previous outburst seemed to reiterate this last point and the crowd erupted into garbled shouts and accusations. Cullen immediately interjected and, raising his hand, he shouted for calm. When a semblance of order had been restored and an uneasy silence had filled the hall, Cullen addressed the room with his voice rising determinedly.

“What we must remember, although these are serious crimes, Senta has been a valued colleague and companion since the Inquisition came to Skyhold. She has aided with the battle against Corypheus as much as anyone present. That must be taken into account!”

This was met with both thoughtful and disparaging muttering from the onlookers. With the muttering building into a crescendo, Cullen turned to the Inquisitor, bowed slightly and looked at her pointedly. The Inquisitor stared straight back with a scowl, unmoving.

With his point made, not knowing if it would be heeded or not, and with nothing more that he could do, he wheeled around and descended the stairs. As he passed Senta, he purposely pushed through the guards so that they lost their grip upon her shoulders. No matter what she was, he could not bare to see her in such a way. He stared both of them down with a silent order and, unsure of themselves, the guards backed away a few paces. Finally breaking his hold upon them, he turned his attention to Senta kneeling beside him. With her head low and lolling, he lay a comforting hand upon her bruised shoulder.

Her head rose at the unexpected, gentle touch and the eyes that met his were the green and gold that he remembered so fondly.

 _Just like the forests of the Arbor Wilds,_ he thought wistfully. _Awash in the sun’s golden embrace, as it shines at the peak of it’s beauty, giving it’s best and last effort before it’s lost below the horizon._

The fierce yellow light from her fit of rage earlier, however, was nowhere to be seen. Their eyes lingered only for a moment until Senta’s gaze broke away and continued to stare unseeingly at the stone floor.

Cullen allowed his fingers to fall away gently, caressing her skin, as he pressed onwards; merging into the crowd. It occurred to him that Senta was no longer slouching as much as before, as if his touch had given her strength somehow. For what seemed like the first time on that trying day, a small smile touched his lips.

 

~

 

Listening to Cullen’s footsteps fading behind me, I thanked The Maker for Cullen’s show of affection. The Inquisitor had tried to demoralise me by attempting to drive us apart and she had almost succeeded. I thought that Cullen had betrayed me and that he could not possibly accept my true nature. If the man I love could not accept all of me, then how could I expect the world to do the same?

Those doubts crumbled as soon as I felt his hand upon my skin and the regret I saw in his face when our eyes met… that decided me. I did not blame him for what he had done. He has always had a heightened sense of duty and moral obligation, so I could not begrudge his decision to involve the Inquisitor - thinking back on it, it was the only logical thing for him to do. But now, thanks to Cullen, the Inquisitor’s plan was foiled and what’s more, everyone in attendance had  been reminded of the half of me they already knew. My “humanity”.

Smiling to myself, I managed to sit up a little taller and faced the Inquisitor with a stronger heart. However, as I focused onto the throne and onto the knowing look upon the Inquisitor’s features, my insides turned to water.

 

~

 

“Thank you, Commander” The Inquisitor said shortly.

Her gaze shifted to the volume that she was toying with idly upon her lap. She ruffled the pages slowly and ran her fingers along it’s skin, feeling it’s contours. Placing both palms flat against its surface, she looked up from her musings.

“Senta Shadow-Wing” She said, tasting the name, “Interesting…”

Leaning forward intently, she said “My Spy-master has had incredible trouble obtaining information on you. Of course you had supplied us with a false history, so your dealings could not be so easily tracked. Now that we have this…” She indicated the book in her lap, “and the secrets that it holds, we have come across some very interesting people with very interesting stories…”

The Inquisitor was pleased to see cracks beginning to show in Senta’s new-found confidence. One look at her face was enough to know that she was worried about the information that Leliana had found. The Inquisitor relaxed back into the throne with a smile.

“It was not so much who we were looking for, but what.” Addressing the whole room now, she continued, “a dragon as dark as night with fire so hot, it burns white… once we knew this, we came across many sightings, but one account in particular stood out.”

The Inquisitor could see Senta shifting slightly in the periphery of her vision and rejoiced.

“A young man, who hailed from a small village in the south, informed us that he was a survivor of a catastrophe that occurred five years ago.” She paused for effect and glanced around the room. Brandishing the book, she continued.

“A beast, fitting this exact description, suddenly descended upon them and decimated the entire village. Nothing but ash remained.”

The Inquisitor sighed dramatically in a show of regret.

“Now, the remains have since blown away and the village’s existence lost to history.”

A collective shout sounded and panicked discussion immediately rang out in the hall. The Inquisitor watched Senta’s reaction closely, as the din grew louder. Senta’s lips had pulled into a straight line, so tight it was a white scar across her face, and she stared daggers in the Inquisitor’s direction. The Inquisitor held her hand up for silence and a pregnant quiet fell instantaneously.

“We must not confuse this dragon with that of Corypheus - they are not one and the same. We must instead look to the accused in front of us and ask her - why?”

All eyes turned towards Senta with renewed fear, however, the Inquisitor knew that she was now powerless.

The trap had been set.

 


	6. Judgement

 

Feeling the weight of everyone’s eyes upon me sent my breathing into ragged fits and starts. Heaving air into my lungs, I struggled to calm myself. I squeezed my eyes tightly shut, trying to block the sound of burning buildings and screaming from my mind. The Inquisitor’s voice cut sharply into my efforts like a knife.

“Senta!”

Confused and disorientated, I looked up at the Inquisitor blearily. She looked back at me expectantly and when I failed to answer, she huffed irately.

“Come now, the hour is late and everyone is eager to see an end to this. Myself included.”

“I - ” My voice broke and I had to clear my throat a couple of times before I could speak. “That’s... not how it happened…”

The Inquisitor shifted in her seat and leaned forwards intently.

“Are you saying that our source is incorrect? That you are, in fact, innocent?”

I shook my head slowly and deliberately, letting all present catch my admission. If they must hear about that awful time, then so be it. The Inquisitor sat back in her lofty throne, amidst excited chattering, and waved for me to continue.

“I was young and foolish during that time; wretchedly poor and desperate to make a living for myself in a strange land that I somehow found myself in. I could not remember anything from my days past - what I had been doing, or how I came to be there - only a continuous red haze and fleeting images I couldn’t make out.” I closed my eyes, recalling the events; my words flowing more easily now.

“I… joined a group of bandits... looting caravans and selling the spoils for coin so that I could buy food and water. It was going well until, one day, we were ambushed by the village guard. There were only three of us and we were quickly overrun.” I absentmindedly touched the back of my head where one of the village guards had struck me. The Inquisitor sat patiently while I recounted my story.

“I was taken by surprise and knocked unconscious by one of the guards. When I awoke, I found myself and my colleagues in the centre of the village, with our heads and wrists secured tightly in the village stocks. We were completely surrounded - by guards and angry villagers.” I swallowed with an audible click. Maker, my throat was dry. It seemed like an age ago since Cole had given me that water-skin. I wondered vaguely if he was here among the crowd.

“Go on…” The Inquisitor prompted.

I was so tired, it was becoming impossible for me to think. Still, I trawled through what I had said in my mind and picked up from where I left off.

“The villagers had things in their hands… vegetables, I think, and more held in baskets upon their arms. Before I could get my bearings, they started to throw them at us.” I wrinkled my nose in disgust at the memory. “They were spoiled… and the smell… Maker! It was putrid… It turns my stomach even now.”

The Inquisitor smiled and steepled her fingers against her lips. There was nothing warm about that smile.

“That must have been humiliating…” She said with mock sympathy.

Oh yes, she was definitely enjoying this. I glared my hatred at her and carried on, ignoring her comment.

“Some were as hard as a rock and some…” I shuddered visibly, tasting bile in my throat. Somehow I managed to continue.

“With each direct hit, my temper rose. Just when I thought I could take no more, I... blacked out…”

“You blacked out?” The Inquisitor asked incredulously.

I nodded and scowled at the first stair in front of me, not really seeing it; my mind cast back.

“That red haze again… when I came to, I was free from my bonds and the village was burning… black smoke choked the air and people were running everywhere, some alight themselves - screaming in agony. They were running away from me when I tried to ask them what had happened, and I had no idea why, or what was going on. I had the strangest taste in my mouth, like the fire was dancing on my tongue.... I thought it was the smoke I was inhaling...” I chuckled a little under my breath at my naivety.

“Anyway, as I cast about for someone - anyone - who would talk to me, a severely injured man staggered his way towards me. He was bleeding heavily and smelt of death. The stench was so strong and cloying that I didn’t notice the sword in his hand until I felt its point drive right through me and out the other side.” I clutched my side where the scar lay hidden beneath my clothing and took a couple of deep breaths to steady my racing heart. The Inquisitor was no longer smiling and she remained in her earlier position, with her fingers steepled against her lips, listening intently.

“As the world bled away from me, I looked to the man in shock and we both collapsed onto the floor. He lay beside me, gasping, and with his last breath he mouthed one word into my face - Demon.”

“I didn’t understand him then. I lay there for hours while the village cracked and buckled around me and my lifeblood seeped into the soil. When the fires had all but died out, I heard creatures approaching, probably attracted by the smell of blood. In my stupor, I felt teeth close around my waist and my body being lifted. At that point, the darkness took me.”

My throat was extremely dry now and it hurt to talk. Rubbing it roughly with my hand, I ploughed on, with my voice turning hoarse and gravelly.

“I don’t remember much of that time… only delirium and searing pain in my side. I awoke many days later to the sight of what became my people. Winged men and women and dragons living peacefully side by side with what looked like humans. The details, I’m sure you’ve read from my book.”

The Inquisitor nodded and said nothing. I continued in an effort to break the lengthening silence.

“They said to me that they had cauterized my wound with dragon fire, saving my life, and then proceeded to explain what happened at the village. I was to blame. Sleeping within me was a power that lay dormant, which was awoken by my deep rage at my humiliation. Without proper training and control, my rage forced my waking mind aside and I transformed into an unstoppable beast, rampaging through the village until the anger subsided. My red hazes were finally explained… bloodlust, they said… They watched and waited from afar until quiet had settled on the village once again and then they came to collect me. They could not let one of their own perish.”

I looked at the Inquisitor with pleading eyes as I finished my account.

“They taught me how to control my power - no one was a better student, so adept at their skills. Eventually, I proved myself during ‘The Challenging’ and became Alpha - leader of my people.”

“I was weak five years ago and murdered an entire village as a result - I won’t run from that; I have been living with the guilt ever since - but I am stronger now and I am no threat to your Inquisition.”

With that, my teeth connected with a click as I clamped my mouth shut. I would not demean myself by becoming a blabbering mess in front of everyone. The room was deathly silent, as we all waited for the Inquisitor to speak. Taking her fingertips from her lips, she sighed tiredly and rubbed at her temple absently.

“Your account is a touching one” She began, “however, there is still the matter at hand that you decimated an entire village, as well as the crimes against the Inquisition itself. What kind of leader would I be if I allowed such a risk to run free within my walls?” She sat forwards suddenly and jabbed an accusing finger at me.

“There is only one place suitable for such a beast as you - a cage!”

She gestured angrily to the guards behind me.

“Take her from my sight to the deepest, darkest cell you can find”

With that, my restraint dissolved completely and I fought against the guards as they dragged me by the arms towards the double-doors of the throne room. I screamed and thrashed against their iron grip.

“No!” I screamed, “No, please! You don’t know what you’re doing!”

Hundreds of eyes watched our progress through the room, unheeding. I couldn't transform, not now - I was too exhausted and I couldn’t give them any more fuel for this particular fire.

“Please… not a cage! A dragon shouldn't be caged! I’ll lose my mind, please!!”

 

~

 

The double-doors slammed shut on Senta’s pleading cries, plunging the hall into an uneasy silence. Slowly, the crowd began to disperse in muttering groups. The Iron Bull stood rigid in his place beside Cullen, staring after the retreating guards.

“Damn…” He whispered to no one in particular.

Cullen glanced at The Iron Bull unhappily.

“I know…” He said with a groan, “Maker, what a mess…”

The Iron Bull stood a full, two feet taller than the Commander and so looked down at him with a smirk.

“No, I mean - DAMN - you got to bang a dragon!”

 


	7. Overdoing It

 

The next morning dawned bright and crisp and an icy cold wind battered relentlessly against the walls of Skyhold. Duties resumed as per usual, with guards manning the battlements; jaws clenched and eyes squinted against the wind. Agents ran back and forth delivering their messages and scouts outfitted themselves in the armory for upcoming missions. Soldiers drilled continuously in the training grounds and among the clattering of sword and shield, horses could be heard whinnying within their stables.

In her usual haunt, the Inquisitor stood cupping her elbows while she pored over the massive map of Orlais and Ferelden stretched across the war table. One of the Inquisition’s agents stood silently to one side, watching her carefully as her fingers drummed restlessly against her arms. Without taking her eyes from the map, she addressed him.

“Send for my advisors… it’s time to discuss our course of action against Adamant.”

The agent slammed a fist over his heart in salute and strode towards the door. As he reached to open it, the door exploded inwards into his face, knocking him back several paces. Cullen roared in with thunder in his eyes.

“Ah.” The Inquisitor said, smiling at the agent as he nursed his gushing nose, “it seems one of my advisors has already arrived!”

The agent sensed mutiny in the air and knew better than to get in the way of two warring officials. So he made quick his escape; closing the massive door carefully behind him before he scurried off to do the Inquisitor’s bidding, leaving drops of blood on the flagstones in his wake. The deep red droplets stood out in stark contrast against the pale stone.

Having watched the agent slink away, the Inquisitor rolled her eyes and turned her attention back to the war table, refusing to acknowledge her Commander’s presence. Cullen bristled further at this slight, if that was at all possible in his current state, and strode around to the other side of the table in plain sight of the Inquisitor.

Unable to ignore him further, the Inquisitor sighed resignedly and lifted her glacial eyes to meet his honey ones. His face was a picture of indignation and she could not refrain from sighing again as she rubbed absently at her temples.

“How could you do this?” He demanded.

 _And so it begins_ the Inquisitor thought dismally.

“I’m not quite sure what you mean, Cullen” She said instead, clasping her hands tightly together in an effort to keep them from fiddling.

“This farce you have performed with Senta! You know she’s a valued member of this team, yet you’ve doomed her to imprisonment and unending suffering!”

He slammed his fists angrily onto the table, and immediately grabbed hold of the edge as if he might fall. His grip was so tight that his knuckles turned a ghostly white and his fingernails dug shallow channels into the solid wood. The Inquisitor’s eyes widened in alarm and she crossed quickly around the table to support him before he could collapse. She was dismayed to hear that his breathing was laboured and rugged.

She turned him around gently so he could perch upon the tables’ edge and rest. Keeping a firm hold on his arms she looked earnestly into his face.

“Cullen - are you okay? Is it getting worse?”

Cullen knocked her hands away none too gently and tipped his head back slightly, pulling in deep breaths. After a moment, wiping sweat from his brow, he stood up shakily just as the door opened to emit Leliana and Josephine.

The Inquisitor shot a meaningful look at Cullen to insinuate that they would speak of this later and turned to greet the new arrivals.

 

~

 

While the women were exchanging pleasantries, Cullen picked his way gingerly over to one of the many windows that lined the far wall and stood staring morosely at the mountain view outside. The need for a lyrium fix was incredibly strong, one of the worst episodes yet. He could feel every nerve thrumming painfully in his body, right through to the tips of his fingers. Holding his hands out slightly in front of him, ensuring that they were blocked from view, he was appalled to see a visible tremor in what was once the steadiest of all.

“Cullen? Are you alright?” Leliana asked in her light, Orlesian lilt.

Shocked from his thoughts, he spun around in surprise, shoving his hands down roughly to his sides like a naughty child caught red-handed in some act of tomfoolery.

“What-? Yes, of course” He said, recovering quickly.

“Well then,” She said laughing lightly, “stop brooding and join us over here. We need your military expertise”

Scowling slightly, he walked over to the women gathered around the map of Orlais.

Pouting a little, he said, “I don’t brood.”

Josephine giggled good-naturedly and said, “Cullen, you are the definition of broody!”   

All three women laughed heartily at this, while Cullen tried to retain some dignity by studying the map before them attentively.

The call for lyrium had quietened somewhat, but Cullen could still feel its continuous drone nagging at the back of his mind. He tried to ignore it and instead turned his thoughts to Senta. She always managed to make him forget his troubles, at least for a little while. He made a firm promise to himself that he would visit her as soon as his duties were done here.

 

 


	8. A Friend in a Dark Place

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have had the previous chapters in my possession for a while now and have been able to give regular updates.
> 
> We're now up to date with this chapter, but I'm always working on the next at every opportunity!
> 
> I hope you enjoy and any feedback would be greatly appreciated :)

 

While Cullen and the others were discussing their strategies on raiding Adamant Fortress, I was sat on my sorry excuse for a bed roll, huddled in a corner with my back against one wall and my head resting against the other. The room was bathed in a dim glow from two or three torches burning low in their brackets, secured tightly to the central pillars dominating the room. Shadows dipped and danced in their hiding places, appearing and disappearing in rhythm with the flames.

They had locked me in a small cell in the belly of Skyhold, just before a door that led to what was known as the Sky Cells; where some previous calamity had blown half of the room out into the seemingly bottomless valley below.

Prisoners were normally left in the Sky Cells for weeks at a time. Structurally unsound, thousands of feet from ground level and with the endless roar of the waterfall vibrating throughout the room; it was an effective tool of torture that could inflict maximum discomfort during long periods of interrogation.

It would not have been torture for me. I belong in the sky. The view of the open blue expanse above would have been a comfort to me and it would have at least slowed the rate of my decline into madness. I had begged the guards unashamedly to lock me in one of those cells, yet they had refused.

“That’s against the Inquisitor’s orders,” they‘d said.

_Bastards!_

I sat shivering with my dark thoughts, hearing the waterfall’s muffled cry of freedom as it plummeted over the edge and into the abyss. Dragons could regulate their own body temperature to withstand any climate, as could I usually, but I was unable to do so then. I was starved of energy and had not eaten since the morning before. My throat screamed for water and when I swallowed, a lump of what felt like broken glass clawed its way downwards.

The power within me jumped and roiled inside, causing the yellow light in my eyes to flicker and gutter erratically, as I fought to keep it down. It would always react this way, as far as I could remember, when subjected to high states of emotion; such as anger and fear. It would try to force its way forwards and take control to ensure my survival, but I could not allow that. I would surely lose control as I did five years ago in that far away village.

I closed my eyes tightly and clenched my teeth in an effort to dispel the guilt that burned through me like fire. I had just managed to come to terms with what I had done when the Inquisitor had dredged it all back up again. It was all my fault. Maybe - just maybe - I deserved to rot in this cage.

Time blurred together as I sat that way, warring with my inner demons, and the torches spluttered weakly in their brackets. I did not hear the echo of creaking hinges as the door, at the top of the long staircase that lead to the courtyard, opened and closed softly. I only became aware of another presence when I heard light footsteps upon the last few stairs, as they padded towards me.

_No shoes...?_ I thought incoherently, blinking against the gloom and straining to hear.

_Not barefoot… not quite._

The sound was oddly familiar to me, like soft leather whispering gently against the stone.

_... Footwraps?_

The approaching footsteps stopped abruptly just short of the archway that framed the staircase, which was shrouded in shadow.

“Solas?” I enquired warily into the gloom. My voice echoed flatly in the small space.

After a few beats, I was about to dismiss what I had heard as an illusion when the elvhen mage chose that moment to shift into view. The waning torchlight glinted off his smooth scalp as his sad eyes regarded me.

Without a word, he took a few more careful steps towards me, bent down in front of my cell and placed something upon the floor. Sliding up the metal plate that served as the food hatch, with a rusty squeal, he pushed the object through the hole he’d created. After retrieving his hand, he allowed the hatch to slip shut with a clang.

It took a few moments for my tired mind to register that the object was a wooden bowl filled with steaming broth, complete with a large lump of bread floating within. I feared that my eyes would soon fall out of my head if I kept up staring in such a fashion. I crawled forwards carefully, wary of any kind of trickery and reached tentatively for the bowl.

I pulled my hands back quickly, as Solas broke the silence suddenly.

“I’m afraid it’s a poor excuse for a meal… and I apologise that I did not have time enough to locate you some proper cutlery…”

A small smile touched his lips as he knelt in front of me, close enough that I could reach him easily if I had a mind to.

“Go on, friend,” he said gesturing to the bowl of broth, “eat.”

Picking up the bowl gently, so as not to spill any of its precious contents, I sat back on my haunches and sipped tentatively. Eyes widening in surprise at the delicious taste, I quickly proceeded to wolf the rest; tearing off large chunks of the dripping bread in between slurps.

Solas laughed quietly and shifted a little so that he could sit comfortably, cross-legged, in front of me.

Swallowing my current mouthful, savouring the taste and a little out of breath from eating so  fast, I asked “Why are you helping me?”

He sat there for a moment weighing me silently with those sorrowful eyes of his. What had those eyes seen to warrant such a look? I could only guess.

“I do not believe that you deserved such a fate, so I’ve resolved to help you in any way that I can. It is not much, but I hope it is a comfort to you.”

I nodded my thanks and placed the now empty bowl beside me, feeling some strength returning to my tired limbs.

Hugging my knees tightly and resting my chin upon them, I considered him quietly. He stared back resolutely with his small smile playing across his lips.

Eventually, I asked, “Why do you think I don’t deserve this?”

His smile dropped from his lips and his gaze turned intense.

Speaking firmly and with conviction, he said, “There are people here within the Inquisition who have performed far worse deeds.”

He broke eye contact with me then and stared off into the deepening gloom. Feeling bewildered by his vehemence, I stared thoughtfully at him while chewing the inside of my cheek.

Sighing, he rose to his feet and stood looking down at me. I thought that he might speak, but he merely turned and retraced his steps up the staircase and out into the courtyard.

Weird - but weirder yet was the scent that he left in his wake; the mustiness of one thousand years past and the heady scent of the fade swirled into my nostrils.

Feeling my eyelids begin to droop, from the effects of the sleeping spell that Solas had secretly cast on my food, I lay down where I sat on the solid stone; my bedroll forgotten. I again wondered, vaguely, what atrocities those eyes had witnessed as my mind drifted off into deep and dreamless sleep.


	9. Frayed Tempers

 

The Inquisitor and her advisors had been working tirelessly all day on their plan of action against Adamant Fortress and it was proving extremely difficult with their current lack of intel.

“We just don’t know what we’re up against,” Cullen said, stretching to release the tension in his muscles and running his hand through his hair for the hundredth time that day.

“My agents can only get so close,” Leliana added, “unfortunately, not close enough to really see what’s inside…”

She stood, arms crossed beside Cullen, cupping her chin in thought as she squinted at the map laid out on the war table.

Josephine, standing next to Leliana, groaned and stamped her foot in frustration.

“None of my noble contacts in the surrounding areas can provide anything useful,” she said, “As far as they know, the fortress remains largely destroyed and completely abandoned since Pharamond’s time.”

All three advisors looked hopelessly at one another for a moment and then directed their attention over to the other side where the Inquisitor was leaning heavily upon the map, studying the map-markers dotted strategically across the table.

Sighing, she straightened up, rubbed her face roughly and ruffled her mop of copper hair.

Looking a bit dishevelled and feeling bone tired, she said, “We can’t carry on this way… we just... need more information.”

“From where?” Cullen asked, a little rougher than intended. Lowering his tone, he continued, “all leads we’ve had so far have now dried up.”

The Inquisitor shrugged her shoulders tiredly and continued to stare at the map in silence.

Josephine tapped her quill against her lips in thought and then suggested, “Maybe we should look through what we have one more time…?”

“Oh yes!” Cullen said sarcastically, “as if we haven’t done that a thousand times already!”

Immediately coming to Josephine’s defence, Leliana rounded on Cullen.

“What has gotten into you? You’ve been ghastly all day and we’ve just about had enough of it!”

The three advisors erupted into a full-blown argument, bickering and shouting over one another, gesticulating wildly.

The Inquisitor stood across from them, rubbing her temples in slow, loose circles, trying to dislodge the headache that was quickly taking route behind her eyes. Finally, unable to take any more, she hollered over the squabbling trio.

“ENOUGH!” She roared, shocking them into silence; all three standing stock still and gaping in surprise.

“Maker, you’re all like children!” She exclaimed in exasperation.

Seeing them standing there, shuffling their feet with their injured expressions and furtive glances at one another, she held both hands up in resignation and calmed herself before continuing.

“Look, we’ve been at this all day and we’re all tired,” she gestured vaguely in front of her, “this is getting us nowhere. I think we should call it a night.”

Everyone was nodding in agreement when there was a light knocking at the door.

_Maker, what now?_ the Inquisitor thought.

Throwing the door open wide, she stepped aside to allow entrance to the new arrival. Smiling apologetically at the Inquisitor, the agent marched smartly into the room and saluted.

His nose was bandaged tightly and his breathing whistled slightly when he breathed. He shifted uneasily under Cullen’s appalled stare.

Leliana was about to stride forward purposefully and interrogate the agent about his injury, when the Inquisitor quickly interrupted.

“What can we do for you?” The Inquisitor smiled sweetly.

The agent bobbed his head in gratitude and pulled a slip of parchment from his pocket.

“A raben arribed…” He said nasally, “addressed sbecifically for you.”

He handed it to the Inquisitor and she looked questioningly at the parchment in her hand.

“Thank you,” She said absent-mindedly to the agent, “you may go.”

The agent executed a quick bow for the Inquisitor and turned to the others to do the same. When he saw Cullen advancing slowly, with a sheepish grin on his face, the agent performed a quick about-turn and hurried out of the door to await further orders. Cullen stopped in his tracks, his grin faltering as he watched the agent go.

Leliana joined him at his side, whispering to him in a deadly voice, “How do I know that you had something to do with that?”

Cullen laughed a bit hysterically and turned to the Inquisitor, who was reading the parchment with growing concern.

“Warden Stroud has sent word,” She said loudly, “gather the others - we’re needed in the Western Approach.”

 

 

 


	10. The Inner Circle Assemble

 

It didn’t take long for all of the Inquisitor’s companions to assemble in the throne room. Leliana had dispatched her agents to every corner of Skyhold to track each of them down and relay the message that they were required to attend the Inquisitor immediately.

They stood in a loose group, in the middle of the room, chatting and laughing together amicably. The hour was late and their voices echoed throughout the empty hall. The nobles that usually congregated in the throne room, had either left for their own estates, or had been shown to their temporary living quarters.

“Hey, Boss! What’s up?” The Iron Bull shouted across the room, as he spied the Inquisitor emerging from Josephine’s office.

Dorian, an extravagant and overly ironical mage from the northern land of Tevinter, was standing in close proximity to The Iron Bull when he called across the room. He clapped a hand to his ear with a gasp.

“Vishante Kaffas!” He cursed, “do you have to bawl like a barbarian?”

The Iron Bull boomed laughter and clapped him affectionately on the shoulder, almost knocking him down from the force of the blow.

“Aww what’s the matter?” Bull asked mockingly, “did I hurt your poor little Vint ear?”

He leant forwards into Dorian’s face, pursing his lips and making wet, smooching noises until Dorian pushed him away by the horns in disgust, muttering darkly. Sera, the prankster of the group, made mock retching noises while the others roared with laughter.

“Five sovereigns that Bull’s going to end up with a fireball to the face!” Varric called out, waving a leather purse over his head, rattling with coins.

Wagers and bets were thrown here and there by the group, as they clustered together in camaraderie, while the Inquisitor stood watching them by the door she’d just entered through. She couldn’t help a smile from spreading across her face as she made her way towards them. The crowd broke apart to admit her as she approached.

“Ahh!” Dorian sighed in obvious relief, “at last, some civilised company!”

Seeking out Varric, the Inquisitor said, “I wouldn’t say a fireball - more like a lightening bolt!”

“You’re on, Inquisitor!” Varric said joyously, shaking her hand to seal the bet.

Dorian, unable to believe what he was hearing, threw his hands up in despair and, shaking his head, he made his way over to the Grande Enchanter Vivienne who was standing gracefully to one side. Laughing with the others, the Inquisitor shared a sly wink with The Iron Bull and he grinned back devilishly.

Now, raising her hands to signal the need for calm, she waited until silence had fallen before she began to speak in a loud, clear voice.

“Thank you all for coming at such short notice,” She said, smiling at all of them standing around her. She pulled the piece of parchment from her belt and held it aloft for them to see.

“Stroud has sent word from the Western Approach. It seems that Gray Wardens have moved into the area for reasons unknown. He’s requested our immediate assistance to find out why.”

Lowering the parchment, she looked about her, as her companions stared resolutely back.

“Who would join me?” She asked.

Dorian was the first to raise his hand from where he stood.

Striding forward again, he said, “It’s a desert, yes? It would make a marvellous change to this bloody ice box!”

Nodding in acceptance, she turned in a slow circle looking for further volunteers.

Iron Bull was the next to put himself forward.

Thumping himself roughly on the chest, he said, “Any excuse to kill Vints, Boss - count me in! A guy’s got to take his fun where he can find it!”

Noticing the tight look upon Dorian’s face, he added with a smirk, “What? You love it!”

Warden Blackwall was next to come forward. The Inquisitor had been expecting this and was prepared.

Holding her hand up before he could speak, she said, “I’m sorry Blackwall, but until we know exactly what’s going on with the Wardens, I’d prefer for you to stay here. We can’t afford to put you at any undue risk.”

Blackwall grunted angrily, but held his tongue. He stood back into his place, rubbing agitatedly at his beard.

The Inquisitor looked at him with sympathy and said, “I know how much this means to you, Blackwall, and I’m sorry. I promise that you’ll be first in line when our time comes to take Adamant.”

Meeting her eyes, he nodded with determination and then lowered his gaze to the floor, sinking into deep thought.

Searching the group for Solas, she finally located him standing apart from the group, close to the door that led to his rotunda.

“Solas?” She said gently and he turned to her questioningly, “will you come with us on this occasion? I think we could really use your skills with ice magic…”

He looked thoughtfully towards the exit, concern flitting across his face for a second, before returning his attention back to the Inquisitor with a nod.

“If that is what you require of me… of course,” he said, smiling tightly.

“Excellent!” The Inquisitor exclaimed excitedly, “that settles it then! Take the rest of the evening to prepare yourselves - we have a long journey ahead of us. The rest of you, take it easy until our return. I’m going to need you at your best - It’s going to take all of us to bring down Adamant Fortress.”

And with that, her friends and colleagues dispersed slowly back to their quarters to prepare for the oncoming journey, while the others continued with whatever activities they were doing before the Inquisitor had called upon them.

As she watched them go, she felt two large hands fall heavily upon her shoulders, beginning to massage the knots out from deep within her muscles. Sighing blissfully, she allowed the hands to continue their miracle working. A deep, baritone voice interrupted her state of ecstasy.  

“You’re so tight,” The voice grunted seductively into her ear, “You know, hmmm, my hands can do so much more… I could help you relax.”  

The Inquisitor turned towards the owner of the voice and, noting that they were now completely alone, she stared up into the face only centimetres away from hers.

Peering through hooded eyes and smiling playfully, with her voice husky and thick with desire, she said, “Lead the way, Bull.”

 

 

 


	11. Getting Aquainted

 

The quartet gathered outside the stables at the first light of dawn, with packs ready and travelling gear donned. They stood huddled in their winter wear, as the cruel wind blew icy circles around them.

“Who’s bright idea was it to set up base in the side of a mountain?” Dorian complained, as he stamped his feet to keep warm; his impressive moustache shivering upon his face.

The Iron Bull, with his broad and well sculpted chest bared to the elements, snorted derisively at Dorian.

“You’re a mage,” He said, “just summon some fire or something!”

“What?” Dorian asked in mock horror. Gesturing to his moustache, he said, “You expect me to risk singeing this beautiful creation? It’s taken me years to get it just right!”

Bull grunted irately and muttered darkly under his breath, fading into an incomprehensible mumble.

“Damn ‘Vints and their prissy, stupid, fucking ways…”

Solas stood silently to one side, keeping himself to himself. His travelling companions were not his favourite people in the world.

The Iron Bull was a Qunari, whose culture was cruel and autocratic - completely against everything that Solas believed in. Dorian’s homeland, Tevinter, physically oppressed his elvhen brethren and forced them into slavery for their own personal gain. This would not be an easy trip.

Instead of joining in on the banter, he turned his thoughts to Senta who was locked in an ever-lasting battle deep within the dungeons. Who was going to keep the dragon in her from losing control while he was away? Skyhold could survive a dragon attack from the outside, but from within..? He thanked his fortune that he was at least able to send her into a deep sleep for a few days before he was called away. That should give her more time.

He needed to put in a quick security measure, so he reached out with his mind and touched gently upon his friend’s consciousness. Immediately, a pop sounded beside him.

“Worry - niggling, nipping, biting. You asked for me?”

Solas turned to his friend with a genial smile.

“Cole,” he said, “thank you for coming so quickly. I need your help with something…”

Leaning forwards conspiratorially, he whispered his needs to his friend.

Cole nodded frantically, exclaiming, “Yes, yes! I can help! I want to help.”

Solas placed a friendly hand on Cole’s shoulder and implored him to be careful.  After assuring Solas that he would be careful, oh yes, very careful - to help the hurt, he disappeared back to whence he came.

At that moment, he saw the Inquisitor approaching, struggling to contain four, snapping mounts. He exhaled in frustration. Dracolisks… wonderful! He would have preferred an elk, or a horse, even.

Cullen had emerged from his office and noticed the Inquisitor struggling with the wayward beasts, so he raced to assist her. Solas watched warily as they both wrestled the beasts into submission. Eventually, they were calm enough to be led over to the waiting party.

The Inquisitor spotted the cautious look upon Solas’ face and laughed breathlessly.

“Sorry Solas… I seem to be apologising a lot lately!” She said happily, “but I’m afraid Dracolisks are the most adapted to the harsh environment of The Approach. We should be able to make good time with them.”

Patting the scaly hide of the lithest Dracolisk of the group, she continued, “This one’s yours - she’s the most docile.”

The Inquisitor retracted her hand just in time, before the beast snapped at her fingers, and laughed nervously.

“Good luck!” She called with a wave, beating a quick retreat, as she went to see to the others.

Solas stared directly into the eyes of his mount and whispered comfortingly in ancient Elvish. Running his fingers gently over its hide, he walked slowly and gracefully around to its flank. The Dracolisk lowered its head respectively, as Solas posted his foot through a stirrup and swung himself skilfully into the saddle. Pulling his mount around, it stood serenely under him, as he watched the others acquainting themselves with their own Dracolisks.

Dorian had easily made himself at home in the saddle of his, apparently already familiar with them from his homeland, but Bull was wrestling with the reins of the biggest and brawniest of the bunch, as it bucked and reared fiercely in his grip.

He grunted and puffed, as he reeled the reins in, so he could hold the Dracolisk firmly under the chin. That way, at least his hands would be safe - its maw was huge and bursting with razor sharp teeth. It was not happy to be handled in such a way and so yanked its head from side to side viciously, in hopes of breaking loose.

“Shit!” He cursed savagely, as his grip slipped on the reins, “You’ve given me a right bitch here!”

The Inquisitor laughed, keeping a wide berth between them.

“It’s male, actually… and that’s the only one we could find that’s big enough to hold your weight without breaking its back.”

Bull laughed cheekily and, taking his good eye away from his task, he said, “The only back I’ll be breaking is yours, boss.”

The Dracolisk whickered angrily, as it reared up suddenly, lifting Bull momentarily off of the floor. Landing heavily on his feet, he pulled hard on the reins again in an effort to lower its head in submission.

“Damn thing’s crazy!” He grunted in exertion.

Unable to do much, the Inquisitor stood by helplessly.

“It was Senta’s - Master Dennet said that she was the only one who could tame it…”

Upon hearing Senta’s name, the wild Dracolisk immediately stopped it’s frantic thrashing and stood stock still. It whined uneasily in its throat and lowered its head.

“Huh…” Bull intoned in confusion, “that seems to have done the trick… Dragons are related to Dracolisks, you know… they could be like cousins or something.”

The beast huffed in warning, as Bull took hold of the saddle. Regarding each other warily, it allowed Bull to pull himself roughly into place.

Cullen stood to one side having watched the entire spectacle.

Now he said, “It makes sense to me now… I’d often find Senta in the stables. Actually _inside_ the pen with the beasts. I’d never seen them so calm. She must have spoken to them or something… the other mounts were always nervous around her, I could never work out why,” he laughed cynically, “I guess now I know.”

The Inquisitor clapped Cullen on the shoulder in sympathy, as she passed him on her way to her own mount. Bull leant over the side of his Dracolisk to slap her arse as she walked by him. The loud slap of skin against leather caused the massive creature to jerk forwards suddenly and he was almost thrown from his seat. He kept his balance, but just barely. The Inquisitor chuckled to herself, urging her Dracolisk forward as she rose up into the saddle.

The others fell into line behind her, ready to embark on their journey.

She called to Cullen behind her, telling him that they should return within a week. She’d send word by raven as soon as their business was done in The Western Approach.

As Solas passed him, he pulled back slightly on the reins to slow into a gentle trot.

He caught Cullen’s eye with an meaningful look and called out quietly, but clearly, so only he could hear, “Go to her, Cullen - she needs you now more than ever.”

Squeezing gently with his calves, he urged his mount into a lumbering gait to catch up with the others now pulling ahead.

Cullen watched their retreating forms, as they disappeared into the morning mists obscuring the long bridge leading out into the mountains.

He knew deep in his heart that Solas was right in what he said, but he struggled to admit to himself that he was scared of what he might find there and that he was partly responsible.

Turning his back on the bridge with a sigh, he walked back to his office, alone again.

 

 

 


	12. A Momentary Respite

 

The next few days passed slowly for Cullen, but not for lack of work. Many of the soldiers, that were new to the Inquisition forces, still required outfitting and training. It was up to Cullen to ensure that there was a constant supply of equipment and resources available at all times; with the added aid of Josephine and her extensive pool of allies. The funding they offered helped pay for expeditions to the surrounding areas, in the endless search for ores and leathers that Skyhold’s smithies could put to use crafting weapons and armour.

It would have been a damn sight easier without Bull’s efforts to teach the Shield Bash maneuver to his own mercenary band, The Bull’s Chargers. The amount of shields they’d destroyed so far was beyond count! Cullen sighed distractedly, as he read through the report in his hand one more time.

_Maker preserve me,_ he thought rolling his eyes, _I’m going to have to have a word with Bull when he returns._

Grabbing an order form and a quill from his desk, he hastily scribbled out a request for a large number of new shields to be fashioned by Skyhold’s senior blacksmith, Harritt, and his team of apprentices.

Turning to the agent standing beside him, who was busy staring out the window and scratching his arse, he said, “Take this order to Harritt in the Undercroft. He’ll have some choice words to say about it, I’m sure.”

The agent took the form unhurriedly from Cullen and glanced at it curiously. Seeing what the order was for, he arched an eyebrow in astonishment. Taking his eyes from the parchment, he glanced back at the Commander and found his face merely inches away from his own. He swallowed thickly. The look upon Cullen’s face was murderous.

“Now!” He ordered fiercely into the messenger’s surprised face, with barely constrained malice.

The man stood quickly to attention and saluted, dropping the order form in his haste. Cullen sighed dramatically and pinched his nose while the agent collected the fallen papers and backed out of the office; apologies spewing from him as he went. The door slammed shut in his wake, plunging the room into a heavy silence.

Cupping his face, Cullen took a moment to collect himself; his breath hot upon his hands. Sliding his hands from his face and running his fingers through his hair, he glanced about as if not recognising where he was. He needed to get out of there - get some air.

Leaving the office in complete disarray, he exited from the right-hand door into blinding white light. His arm shot up to shade his eyes from the midday sun and he squinted blearily while his vision cleared. Staggering over to the battlement wall, he propped himself up shakily until his vertigo passed. He stayed that way for several minutes, with sweat beading upon his forehead. Eventually the episode passed and he was able to straighten up.

Breathing heavily, as if he’d been training for hours instead of only walking a few feet, he stared hopelessly out at the breathtaking view surrounding him.

Birds flitted and whirled about in the dizzying heights above the valley, black silhouettes in the bright, pearly-white sky. They dipped and rose playfully, enjoying the boundless freedom spread out before them. Cullen watched them a little enviously, as they cut through the air, wondering what it must be like to see the world unfold beneath them. He knew that he did not have the time to stand there with his idle fantasies, but he didn’t quite have the heart to look away. There was something oddly romantic about it, if you didn’t think about the risk of falling thousands of feet to a violent and bloody end.

Cullen smiled for the first time that day. The expression felt foreign on his face, as if he was out of practice, and at that realisation, Varric’s words “you should smile more - it’s good for your health” echoed in his mind.

Chuckling cynically to himself, he turned around so he could lean upon the parapet and gaze out across Skyhold’s grounds. In truth, he had been thinking about Senta. Just lately, that’s all his tortured mind seemed to keep returning to.

Seeing the birds had reminded him that he used to watch Senta, practising and drilling her aerobatic skills, in the exact same way and from the very spot he was standing in.

He remembered how she looked when she finally returned to the ground; hair ruffled and tangled, cheeks flushed from the cold, a wide grin upon skin that was shiny with sweat - and her body, the line of her... No! He could not allow his thoughts to go there! As far as he knew, those days were over - best to do without the distraction.

Huffing sadly, he allowed his gaze to travel across the grounds, sweeping from the stables on the right-hand side of the fortress, right across to the Herald’s Rest just below and to the left of where he was standing. Backtracking a bit, his eyes settled upon the lonely door situated on the far side of the courtyard. The door to Skyhold’s dungeons.

With Solas’ apparent urging upon his departure, replaying over and over in his mind, Cullen made a sudden decision.

Leaving his position on the battlements, he strode purposefully down the steps adjacent to the Herald’s rest, keeping the dungeon’s entrance in full view all the while. Marching across the courtyard and attracting curious glances from passers-by in the process, he stopped abruptly when the door was upon him.

Meaning to grab the door handle and continue powering down the stairs, his hand hesitated a few centimetres away from gripping it. Resting his forehead against the solid wood, he willed himself to be calm. Taking hold of the handle with exceptional care, he turned it slowly and pushed until the door stood fully open. Taking a deep breath and ordering himself to remain strong, he proceeded down the stairs and into the flickering torch-lit depths of the dungeons.


	13. You Are Not Alone

 

Cullen descended the stairs slowly, listening intently for anything abnormal. The torchlight, emanating from the room below, played tricks with the shadows; distorting them into grotesque forms and making them dance twisted routines upon the walls on either side of him.

He did not know if the disturbing shapes he saw were real, or if they were a figment of his lyrium starved brain. Either way, the tiny hairs at the nape of his neck prickled with unease. Rubbing the base of his neck to calm his nerves, he continued downwards as the stairs steepened; with his left hand extended forwards, tracing a path along the wall through the gloom. Cullen had never had cause to enter the dungeons, so he had no idea what to expect.

After descending for what felt like an age, the stairs came to an abrupt halt. As he exited the stairwell, the dungeons opened up before him; revealing several cells lining the walls, with supporting columns cutting a path through the centre. Sconces burned brightly upon the columns and the light they emitted bounced back harshly from the low ceilings that hung oppressively across the small space.

He quickly scanned the first few cells that were within his line of sight and finding that they were empty, he proceeded deeper into the room with caution. Each cell that he passed lay empty and barren.

He slowly approached another door on the far side of the room, _Which must lead to the Sky Cells_ , he thought distractedly.

Noting that the last few chambers, across from where he was standing, were also vacant - he turned towards the final and smallest cell. The sight that greeted him caused him to leap back with a cry of surprise.

Senta stood silently and expressionlessly, centimetres away from the barred door that separated her from the outside world; her eyes glowing with that eerie, yellow energy. After appraising him for a moment, she cocked her head slightly in amusement and smiled thinly.

“You look like shit,” She said.

 

~

 

I had been trying to meditate in an attempt to keep my power under control, when I heard the door to the courtyard open. My endeavour was not going well.

Although my mind was clear of thought, the energy within me roiled and pulsed, yearning to be free of the prison we were in. I persisted, even as I heard the heavy clank of armour descending the stairs.

My senses had heightened with each passing day, as the power within me grew more insistent. So when the individual drew closer, I recognised the rhythm of their steps and the familiar scent of cologne. The smell had mixed with dust particles, knocked loose from the fur upon their shoulders, as it reached my nose. My eyes flew open. Cullen?

I stood up carefully, not yet ready to alert him to my position, and  watched him silently as he crept forwards searching each cell in turn. It was not like him to act so paranoid. He was usually so solid, so sure of himself. I could hear his heart racing in his chest and I could smell the sweat upon his skin; stale and cloying.

As he turned towards me, I did not show the shock that I felt upon seeing his face. Instead, I studied him and felt my pity grow with each new detail. His face looked clammy and the stubble on his cheeks grew wild and unchecked. He stared at me wide-eyed, with underlying dark circles that were striking against the pallor of his skin. It seemed we both had problems.

I cocked my head at him and smiled thinly.

“You look like shit,” I said.

“Maker, you gave me a fright,” He said with a high, breathless laugh.

He stood with his hands on his knees, recovering from the scare I’d given him. Maker knows what I looked like, but that was not my biggest concern at that moment. I was more perturbed by the shadow of a man standing in front of me.

“Thanks, though,” He continued, straightening up, “You don’t look so good yourself.”

His attempt at humour fell flat as he saw the frown upon my face. The glowing in my eyes had subsided at the distraction he was providing and the gaze that met his was clear for the first time in hours. He shifted uncomfortably under my scrutiny.

“What’s going on with you Cullen?” I asked, my voice dripping with anxiousness, “It looks as if you haven’t been sleeping.”

He rubbed the back of his neck absently and had the decency to look guilty.

“I didn’t come here to speak about me… How are you doing?” He asked, taking a couple of small steps towards me.

I wasn’t about to let him get off so easily and change the subject, so I rushed forwards at the bars making them clang loudly, growling low in my throat. My eyes flashed dangerously. Cullen fell back a few steps with an injured look upon his face. He held up his hands in surrender and conceded to answer my question.

“Okay… okay!” He said, raising his voice to placate me, “Nobody knows what I’m doing, apart from the Inquisitor… and now you.”

He cleared his throat nervously and looked at the floor in shame.

“I’ve stopped taking Lyrium…”

My mouth fell open in surprise and I grabbed hold of the bars, shoving my face in between them.

“What!? Cullen, are you crazy? That’s incredibly dangerous! You could die!”

He advanced on me angrily and I backed away a few paces, surprised by his fervour. Instead of erupting, as any normal person would, he lowered his voice when he was incensed. He did so now, pacing and gesturing indignantly as he spoke.

“Do you not think I know that? I’ve seen too many awful things - _experienced_ too many awful things - during my service within the Templar Order. Can you not see why I want nothing to do with that life!?”

Catching himself, he reeled in his emotions and shut them off. He stood looking at me coldly, his lips pressed tightly together. The scar, running a jagged line down his upper lip, stood out white against his skin. I peeled myself from the rear wall of my cell and approached the door cautiously. I held out my hand through the bars to him, as a sign of acceptance and to ask for his forgiveness.

Seeing my hand held out before him, he huffed irately and paced around in a circle. He was unsure of himself, as if our roles were reversed and he were the caged animal, scared and all alone, and I the outsider. I shook my proffered hand, urging him gently to take it. He approached slowly and stretched his fingers uncertainly towards mine.

He seemed afraid to touch me, as if making contact would enforce the fact that I am real and therefore, the feelings he harboured for me were also real. I did not force the issue and merely stood there with my hand extended, my eyes searching his face - our fingers almost touching.

Eventually, I felt the leather of his glove graze my skin. A pleasant shock ran through me, as he traced the lines of my fingers and laid his palm across mine. Our fingers intertwined and he lifted his tired eyes to regard me warily. His expression was pained, but a new light seemed to have kindled in his stare as we looked at one another. To me, it looked like hope.

“You aren’t alone in this, Cullen,” I urged gently, “I’m not going anywhere…”

He chuckled sadly and moved closer, placing my hand on his chestplate above his heart. He held my hand in place and, with his other hand, he reached through the bars to cup my face. He stroked my cheek tenderly, looking into my eyes, flicking from one to the other, deep in thought.

Suddenly the door to the courtyard opened, spewing the daily clamour from outside into the silence below, breaking our reverie.

“Cullen?” A voiced called. It was Leliana. “Tell me you’re down there - I’ve been looking everywhere for you!”

Cullen did not release my hand from his chest, as he turned towards the voice.

“Yes! What is it?” He called back.

“Oh, thank The Maker!” She breathed, “A raven has arrived - It’s from the Inquisitor. They’re business has concluded in The Western Approach - they’ll be returning within the next few days. We need to prepare for their arrival.”

Cullen nodded to himself and I couldn’t help smiling at the simple motion.

“She can’t see you nodding…” I prompted in a whisper.

He grinned back at me sheepishly, like old times, and called up to Leliana in a clear voice.

“I’ll be with you in a minute. Have one of your agents prepare a bath for me.” He turned to me and winked cheekily.

I could hear Leliana’s complaining from where we stood, as she walked away and the door closed behind her. “What am I now? His scullery maid??”

We laughed together quietly so that Leliana did not hear us, both of us reluctant for Cullen to leave. Eventually, duty won out and Cullen squeezed my hand, that was resting over his heart, tightly. Instead of pulling away, he leant in as close to me as possible through the bars, with his lips hovering over mine. His breath fluttered over my lips, rugged with need.

I tilted my head back to close the gap and our lips met.

He kissed me gingerly at first, but then an insatiable desire crept in and he claimed my mouth hungrily. As he tried to deepen the kiss, the bars pushed into him bringing us both crashing back to earth. We broke apart unwillingly, breathing heavily.

“I’ll come by tomorrow,” He said quietly, sorrow written all over his face.

I nodded, unable to speak, and he stepped away from me hesitantly.

“Go,” I mouthed and he turned from me, disappearing from view - practically running up the stairs.

I retreated to the rear of my cell, collapsing against the wall and sliding down it, as Cullen’s heavy footsteps faded into silence and the loneliness crashed in upon me.

The energy inside me forced its way forward with more purpose than ever before. I sat there huddled on the floor, in the waning light of the torches, with my eyes glowing steadily.


	14. The Inquisitor's Return

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi Guys! Sorry about such a delay getting these chapters uploaded!
> 
> I've been really excited about getting to a particular part of the story that I can't wait to begin writing, so I've been concentrating mainly on that. It's slow going, but it's getting there!! I can't wait to share it with you.
> 
> Since I've been doing nothing but writing, my chapter illustrations have fallen behind so I've been spending the last week rendering them up.
> 
> Well here they are and I hope they continue to give you joy.
> 
> x

 

Skyhold had fallen into a deceptive lull awaiting the Inquisitor’s return. Nobody spoke much and if they did, they conversed in hushed whispers. The atmosphere that afternoon was thick with expectant dread.

The Inquisitor’s journey into Orlais’ vast desert was not meant to be general knowledge, but rumours spread quickly. People sat in the tavern, drinking alone, or milled about aimlessly lost in their own thoughts.  What news would the Inquisitor bring? What was Corypheus planning in The Western Approach? What new horror would he unleash upon them?

Suddenly, the gatehouse bells cut the air with their sharp clanging and the guard on duty called out excitedly.

“Four figures approaching! It’s them! It’s the Inquisitor and the others!”

Ceasing his assault on the dilapidated bell, he leapt at the portcullis controls, calling to his partner staring out at the approaching party.

“Get your arse over here, nug-brain! I can’t run these controls on my own!”

Leaving the window, he joined his comrade on the other side of the winch. Together they heaved and pulled, gaining momentum as they fell into rhythm. The portcullis began to rise slowly with a rusty squeal; its spikes glinting in the midday sun. When the gate was fully open, the guards locked their respective handles safely into place and ran to the window, just in time to see the Inquisitor and her companions passing underneath them.

The Inquisitor’s three advisors stood in a smart line, at the base of the central staircase, waiting to greet their friends. Leliana’s expression was serious and shrouded in shadows cast by her hood. Josephine stood to her left looking regal in her golden finery, while Cullen stood to her right with his wild stubble freshly trimmed and tamed.

The Inquisitor and her companions arrived in the courtyard at last, pulling up briskly in front of the welcoming committee. The hardships of their journey were plain for everyone to see. Their clothing was torn in places and covered in splatters of blood that had dried and crumbled in the desert sun. Their packs hung limply against their backs and semi-healed injuries ran a ragged patchwork across their bodies. Their mounts hung their heads in exhaustion, pushed to the limit of their endurance from the break-neck pace they had been forced to keep.

Horsemaster Dennet approached the Dracolisks carefully, as the group dismounted. Not one of the beasts snapped at his fingers as he took hold of their reins and he scowled deeply as he led them back to the comfort of their pens.

The Inquisitor turned to her travelling companions and said, “Thank you for accompanying me to The Approach. There was no way we could account for the events that took place there…” She rubbed her face tiredly, “Take some time to clean up and attend to your wounds, there’s still much to do.”

Her friends silently nodded their acquiescence and split up, each heading to their own quarters, so they could rest while they were able. The Inquisitor watched them until they were out of sight and then turned to her advisors, who were peering at her curiously.

“First,” She said to them, “I need to take a bath…”

She pushed past them, making her way to the staircase, picking at her armour fussily, scraping off bits of gore that were stuck to the metal.

Cullen hailed her in confusion, “Inquisitor?”

“I’ll meet you in the War Room in an hour,” She said, raising her hand and waving dismissively.

“Leave your armour outside your room - I’ll have someone clean it for you.” He called back with a frown.

The Inquisitor shot a thumbs up over her shoulder and disappeared into the throne room.

 

~

 

Several hours later the Inquisitor emerged, scrubbed clean and dressed in fresh clothes. She felt revitalised and ready to meet with the others in the war room. Firstly, though, she wanted to check on Skyhold’s one and only prisoner. Examining her clothes, making sure that everything was in the right place, she descended the stairs that connected her quarters to the throne room.

Nobles milled about in the grand hall, chattering excitedly at being so close to the actual Inquisition. Choruses of “Inquisitor” followed her as she pressed onwards, past the long dining tables bursting with the finest food and wine. She nodded in receipt at each being she passed, as they greeted her reverently. The responsibility of becoming Inquisitor was astronomical, but somehow she managed to take it all in stride. Reaching the large double doors that marked the exit, with no major distraction, she slipped outside into the glare of the afternoon sun.

The frigid air was a shock to her in comparison to the blistering heat of The Western Approach. Clouds of mist puffed from her mouth as she exhaled. Wrapping her arms about her, to offer some meagre protection against the cold, she made her way towards the dungeons.

Agents and soldiers alike hustled here and there, attending to their duties. The Inquisitor felt their eyes upon her as she walked by and wondered what they’d think when they learned the truth of what lay behind the walls of Adamant Fortress. She had trouble believing what she’d witnessed herself.

When she reached the entrance to the dungeons, she pushed through without faltering.

 

~

 

As I heard the door at the top of the stairs opening, I stood quickly. I had not slept well since Cullen’s visit and I was exhausted. It had been days, as far as I could tell, since he last promised to see me. It was hard to keep track of the time in this pit. In my eagerness and clouded judgement, I did not notice the gentler sound of feminine footsteps upon the stone.

“Cullen??” I called expectantly, as the footsteps approached.

My heart, which had risen into my throat, plummeted as the Inquisitor’s voice responded.

“Not since I last checked,” She said humourlessly, as she came into view.

My joyous expression fell from my face and was replaced with a look of loathing. I kept my mouth shut, lest I say something uncouth.

“You aren’t pleased to see me?” She scoffed, swaggering a little as she approached.

I backed away from the bars warily, as she came closer.

“No… unless you’ve changed your mind and plan to free me?”

She laughed uproariously at that and wiped a mock tear from the corner of her eye. I stood watching her carefully, with growing distrust.

“What do you want?” I demanded.

She stopped laughing immediately and came as close to me as she could, peering into my cell. I backed off hurriedly, not wanting to touch her.

“I wanted to see how prison life was treating you,” She said with a grin, as she peaked nosily at my abysmal abode.

“What is your problem with me!?” I cried, my temper rising, “Are you here just to gloat?”

She slowly retreated a few steps, all jest evaporating from her demeanour. She turned to glower at me.

“I thought that once you were locked away, he would forget you. Out of sight, out of mind - you know? It seems I was wrong.” She stood silently and defiantly, waiting for my reaction.

“Wh - What are you talking about?” I almost screamed at her, then, realisation struck me, “You mean Cullen? Is that what all this is about??” I inquired incredulously.

She did not answer me, instead she paced in front of my cell, picking at her lip in thought. Her freshly washed hair glinted wetly in the newly kindled torch light. I stood slack-jawed as I watched her march back and forth. At last, she ceased her pacing and turned to me.

“You are a menace,” she said, “Lying to the Inquisition about who you are - lying to me - putting us all at risk and then you go behind my back and steal him from me-?” She stopped mid-tirade, a shocked and outraged expression spreading across her face. Pointing angrily towards a pile of bones stashed in the corner of my cell, she cried, “What is that!?”

Still trying to process what the hell was going on, I glanced gormlessly at where she was pointing. When I spied the pile of bones, I smiled warmly. This time, it was my turn to laugh.

“Cole,” I said, a roguish grin spreading across my face.

Sneering crossly at me, she spat, “Cole is _feeding_ you??”

I refused to answer her and watched as she warred with her inner emotions. Suddenly she stood stock still, looked towards me and lifted her chin at me determinedly.

“We’ll see about that…” She said, as she turned to leave.

She stopped abruptly and, facing away from me, she said, “I forgot to mention… you may be interested to know that the Abyssal High Dragon, that took up residence in the Western Approach, is no more.”

“What do you mean?” I whispered carefully, not wanting to know the answer.

“It’s dead.” She said coldly.

Turning back to face me, I could tell that she was pleased to see my mouth hanging agape in horror. She squinted her eyes at me, smiling, like a cat with cream.

“I struck the last, fatal blow myself.” She said slowly, reminiscent.

“How it screamed as it died…” She smiled a self-satisfied smile, “It was music to my ears.”

She met my eyes with false sympathy and said, “I thought you ought to know - you might have known it once - being of the same ilk.”

With that, she whirled back around and marched from the dungeons. The room shook from my agonised roars, tears pouring from my eyes, as I screamed in dragon-tongue at her retreating back. I flung myself at the bars, in my anguished abandon, screaming myself hoarse - long after the door had cut me off from the outside world.

 


	15. Disquietude

 

“Demons,” Cullen said in despair, “Bloody demons!”

He was standing at the war table, accompanied by his companions Leliana and Josephine. The Inquisitor stood opposite, cupping her elbows, with her head down and her eyes closed.

“I cannot believe the Wardens would do this!” Josephine exclaimed, “They’re supposed to fight against the Blight - not join it! What are they thinking?”

“They are desperate,” Leliana said carefully, “if what Stroud said is true, then all Wardens now hear The Calling. They believe they are all going to die. If that were allowed to happen, who would stop the next Blight?” She shook her head sadly, “Binding themselves to demons is their last ditch effort to stop the Blight for good…”

“It’s blood magic!” Cullen cried angrily, “When has that _ever_ been a good thing??”

Shrugging her shoulders unknowingly, she turned to the Inquisitor.

Slapping the table adamantly with her hand, she said, “We need to act now, Inquisitor - before this demon army is allowed to grow.”

The Inquisitor opened her eyes and lifted her head slowly. Unfolding her arms, she grabbed a map-marker symbolising the Inquisition’s forces from the table, turning it around and around in her hands. Cullen, Leliana and Josephine watched her raptly.

“You are all right in what you say,” She said, pacing back and forth, looking at each of her advisors in turn, “Warden mages have been tricked, by Corypheus, into binding themselves with demons. The warriors - the only people who can oppose them - give themselves willingly as sacrifices to make it so.” Suddenly slamming the map-marker onto the table, over the image of Adamant Fortress, she said fiercely, “This has to stop! Now!”

They stood looking at each other emphatically for a moment and then, without further ado, they bent to the task ahead of them.

 

~

 

Cullen was exhausted. The Inquisitor had kept them all busy, working far into the night on their plan of attack. He was finally released from the War Room at approximately midnight and had just arrived back at his office. He issued some last minute orders to the agents fresh on duty, readying them for the mass preparation that was to begin first thing in the morning.

As they left to do his bidding he climbed up the ladder to his room, with his muscles heavy with fatigue, and collapsed face-first onto his bed. He was too tired to undress and, knowing that he was going to be stiff as hell in the morning, he fell immediately to sleep in his full regalia.

Throughout the night, guards on patrol looked uneasily at their partners as their watch took them in close proximity to Cullen’s office. They hurried by, as tormented cries drifted eerily from the tower. Within, Cullen tossed and turned, as demons and abominations plagued his dreams. Thrashing wildly, he sat up with a scream. Realising where he was, he fell back onto his pillow with a pained sigh. He moaned quietly, as he rubbed his face slowly, trying to expel the lingering nightmares from his mind. A side effect from lyrium withdrawal, he knew. It seemed sleep would elude him again that night.

 

~

 

Time passed by in an endless haze. I could not feel. I could not think. My body was numb and for the first time since I was made prisoner in that awful place, the power inside me lay still, mourning. The Inquisitor could not have dealt me a bigger blow. Our kind was making a comeback, it was true, but there were still so few of us and now the Abyssal High Dragon was gone.

All dragons had a choice. They could decide to live under my rule, peacefully as a community, or they could forge their own paths in the wild. The Abyssal High Dragon had chosen the latter and we had gone our separate ways.

I sat there on my bed roll cradling my knees, with my face wet with tears, pressed into them.

The Inquisitor’s words echoed in my mind, deigning to admit that the Abyssal High Dragon was anything but a worthless object.

“She…” I moaned inconsolably, again and again, “Not ‘it’… _She_!”

Dragons, in the surrounding areas, shifted uneasily in their sleep and keened unknowingly at the pain we shared.

 


	16. Enough is Enough

 

Dawn broke clear and fresh upon Skyhold. Even the cold had abated somewhat, although it could never be described as ‘warm’ up in the mountains. Cullen emerged from his tower, jaded, but washed and ready to face the day. Sleep was slow coming to him after his string of nightmares, although he was able to catch a few broken hours before the morning bell sounded, shocking him from his fitful slumber.

Preparations had already begun for the mass march on Adamant Fortress, when Cullen had awoken. It didn’t take long for agents to realise that he was now on duty and, when they did, they immediately mobbed him with reports and requests. He found himself struggling to focus upon the clipboards thrust into his face, so instead, he gave them a quick glance and reeled off orders from his own intuition.

Agents came and went in a steady stream, as he slowly made his way to the throne room for something to eat. His appetite was almost non-existent, but he persevered knowing that he must keep up his strength for the coming march. As he ate a small meal of chicken broth, he felt his gorge rise unexpectedly and was forced to stop in a hurry. He sat at the long table with his head in his hands, utterly distraught. Unable to sleep, unable to think and now unable to eat - he was a mess! Not fit to lead.

When Cullen had finally decided to attempt quitting lyrium, he’d enlisted the help of Cassandra Pentaghast. She was a stalwart and pious woman, fiercely competent and would not shy away from making a tough decision if and when it was required. They had secretly agreed for her to watch Cullen carefully and to remove him from active duty, seeking a replacement, should she ever deem him unsuitable for his current role as Commander.

_Enough is enough_ , he thought tiredly and stood quickly.

He wavered for a moment, as a surge of dizziness threatened to topple him. He shook his head briskly, trying to clear it and clung to the table’s edge as nausea gripped him. Solas was passing by on his way back to the rotunda, with a small plate of fresh fruit, when he noticed Cullen swaying on the spot. Sensing that something was wrong, he crossed swiftly over to his side.

Laying a supportive hand upon his shoulder, with concern written all over his face, he asked, “Cullen, what ails you? Perhaps I can help?”

Looking up blearily, Solas’ face appeared in front of him all a blur. He could see that Solas’ lips were moving, but he couldn’t make out what he was saying. He must have been asking what was going on. Muttering vaguely that he was fine, he pushed past Solas and stumbled his way outside. Solas looked after him in confusion, but ultimately knew that he should let him be. Whatever Cullen was facing, he alone had the power to see it through.

_Good luck, ma falon_ , he thought, proceeding on his way with his breakfast held lightly in one hand.

 

~

 

Cullen’s mind began to clear outside in the fresh mountain air, however, a raging headache now crept in to replace the dizziness. Bursting with shame and feeling beyond all hope, he made his way slowly and painfully towards Cassandra’s area of repose. If he could catch her alone, maybe they could speak somewhere privately. The whole of the Inquisition did not need to witness his fall from grace.

Upon reaching the base of the stairs, Cullen was about to continue through the courtyard towards the infirmary, when he caught sight of Cole pacing agitatedly back and forth in front of the dungeon. His eyes widened in worry, as he realised that something was amiss. He’d been so busy with his duties and totally engrossed with his lyrium starvation, that he’d completely forgotten to visit Senta as he’d promised. Maker, he’d never forgive himself if something had happened to her. Although, he could not think for the life of him what - she was supposedly safe down there. An unpleasant coil tightened in his stomach as he rushed over to Cole.

“Cole…?” He ventured. Nothing.

As the spirit, demon - _thing_ \- strode by him with his massive hat pulled low, muttering to himself, Cullen raised his voice in command, “Cole!”

That got some reaction. He ceased his pacing, but continued to mutter inconsolably to himself. Cullen strode forward, feeling more than a little irritated and grabbed him by the shoulders.

Shaking him firmly, he said, “Cole, what’s wrong with you? Tell me what's going on! Has something happened to Senta?”

Cole came around slowly and looked up at Cullen with naked anxiety. Cullen did not like that look one bit. He was about to ask him again, when Cole began to jabber.

“I can’t - I can’t! I can’t get in! I can’t get in!” He grabbed at Cullen’s armour with a panicked grip.

Wrenching Cole from his armour, he kept a strong hold on the boy’s shoulders. With his headache and lyrium issues forgotten, he looked directly into Cole’s frightened eyes.

“Slow down, Cole, I need you to tell me what happened,” He coerced.

Fixated on the intensity in his eyes, Cole visibly relaxed and Cullen was able to let him go.

“Tell me what’s going on,” he prompted again.

Rubbing his arms anxiously, Cole said, “I can’t get in. She knows - she knows!”

Cullen looked at him mystified. Cole realised the problem and willed himself to slow down, to make sense. He took a deep breath and tried again.

“I need to bring Senta something to eat -” he pointed at the large Gurn legs sitting in a pile on the floor.

“Solas asked me to help,” He said, and then pointing at the door to the dungeons, he continued, “I can’t get in. The Inquisitor has had a mage cast wards on the prison - Vivienne, I think - so spirits can’t get in.”

He indicated himself and exclaimed, “I’m a spirit!”

Struggling to take it all in, Cullen glanced at the meat on the floor sceptically and then looked back at Cole.

“Gurn?” He asked incredulously.

“Yes,” Cole said, smiling happily, forgetting his woes temporarily, “Every dragon’s favourite!”

Holding his hands up to stop that particular conversation from progressing, he back-tracked quickly.

“You said the Inquisitor did this? Why?”

Cole looked sadly at Cullen and a little guiltily, “She found out that I was helping. She was mad because you love Senta, instead of her, and she wanted to make Senta hurt. She came to find me and confront me, but I read her pain first and made her forget.”

Cullen gaped at Cole stupidly for a moment and Cole couldn’t help but smile at the expression. Cullen was a good man and he liked good people.

Abandoning that route quickly, as he just couldn’t think about that now, he asked Cole, “Is Senta okay? Is she safe?”

Before Cullen could stop him, Cole was reaching into Senta’s mind.

Instantly his thoughts were ablaze with heat, all consuming and agonising. He screamed a high and undulating scream, thrashing wildly as the fire in his mind pillaged and burned. He fell to the floor in front of Cullen’s shocked face, scrabbling and begging for the pain to stop. It only lasted for several seconds before the heat withdrew, leaving Cole panting and whimpering on the floor.

Cullen didn’t understand what the hell had just happened, but he immediately dropped to the floor anyway, to check on Cole. He grimaced in pain as Cole grabbed hold of his hand in a vice-like grip.

He pulled himself closer to Cullen, as he drew near to fainting and begged, “Help her… help… trouble… is...coming…”

A crowd had gathered to watch the spectacle when the darkness stole over Cole.

Lying his limp form softly onto the ground, Cullen took off at a run into the dungeons.


	17. Turmoil

 

The time for numbness had passed. The last few hours had seen a torrent of emotions flood through me, utterly overwhelming in their intensity. Pain, tenacious and gnawing, quickly followed suit, running my conversation with the Inquisitor over and over in my mind. As time crawled by and with nothing to divert my attention, her words grew heavy in my heart like poison.

She was right about Cullen - he had forgotten me. He had not come back like he’d said he would. I’d waited patiently - I had no choice - yet he had not shown. Every sound, every smell, was a signal of his approach and every time my heart would leap into my throat, only to collapse upon itself in bitter disappointment. He did not love me - how could he? Not once had I heard those words cross his lips. I was a fool.

Now, because of my foolishness, the Abyssal High Dragon was gone. The terror she must have felt! I couldn’t keep myself from imagining the gruesome details of her death and the images of her final moments played relentlessly behind my closed eyelids.

Even Cole had abandoned me. He would normally have come to me by now, bearing armfuls of meat for me to eat while he kept me company, telling me about the people he’d helped that day. His little acts of kindness, like putting turnips in the fire to remind a soldier of home, or attracting spiders so their silk could help the healers, gave me hope.

Now, there was only me and the constant roar of the waterfall outside, laughing at me and taunting me. Oh how I longed to stretch my wings and feel the weight of gravity leave me, just like the deluge of water careering and tumbling into the wide open space of the ravine.

Guilt joined the fray, swift and as merciless as the Inquisitor’s blade.

It was my fault that all of this had come to pass. I should never have revealed my secret, or better yet, I should never have left my clan in the first place. It was my fault that Cullen had not returned, I was a monster - a creature to be feared and loathed.

It was my fault that the Inquisitor had looked to destroy the Abyssal High Dragon. If I had not stood in the way of what the Inquisitor wanted so badly, she may not have sought revenge upon her and my friend may have been allowed to live.

I did not know what I had done to Cole, but I was sure that, somehow, that was my fault as well.

Now, as I stood cradling my stomach against the crippling knot that had formed there, the final and strongest emotion took over. Anger.

It roiled and spat inside me, like a molten pool of magma, burning and consuming everything in its path. It clawed and seethed its way up my throat and forced itself from my mouth in an almighty roar, shaking the room and causing dust to dislodge from the ceiling, sifting to the floor in clouds.

In my heightened state, I felt something enter my mind and I lashed out with unconstrained fury. I grabbed hold of the intruder and mentally squeezed, the heat searing and wild. A maddened grin spread across my face as I felt the creature scream and wail in my grip. Then, from nowhere, a panicked voice laced with agony spoke to me from a great distance, fading in and out.

“Please… let go! Ohhh it hurts!”

Cole! Shocked and revolted, I was physically repulsed by my actions and fell back against the rear wall, panting and sweating heavily. A red mist hung around the periphery of my vision, threatening to envelope me. Knowing that my control would soon break, I clamped my eyes shut and tried to block out the world.

 

~

 

Cullen thundered down the stairs with his heart in his throat. Stumbling on the last stair and almost falling, he slammed into the first central column and ricocheted off painfully. Badly winded, he heaved for air while staggering towards Senta’s cell. His vision had closed into a tunnel around where he knew her to be and he could see nothing else. All that mattered to him was reaching her.

Approaching her door, he grabbed onto the bars to support himself and peered into the tiny cell. Senta was standing as far back as possible from the door, pressing her body into the rear wall, hugging herself. Her eyes were aglow with a fire he had never seen before, spitting and crackling dangerously. He called her name desperately, but received no answer. It was like she couldn’t hear him.

He battered at the bars uselessly, yearning to reach her, but unable to. He called and called, but Senta merely continued staring unseeingly at the cracked and decaying wall of her cell.

 

~

 

Despite my efforts, the red haze advanced relentlessly until the world around me was no more than a crimson blur. I heard someone crash into a wall close by and stagger towards me, but the battle I waged inside was so intense that I could not afford a single distraction or risk losing the last handle I had on my self control. I allowed the noise to blend in with the continuous roar of the waterfall outside and tried to think of a happier time.

 

~

 

Cullen’s voice had grown hoarse from yelling Senta’s name. He was frantic - frightened by the vacant stare that he saw on her face. This was all his fault - if he’d just given her the chance to explain when she’d come to him that night- this wouldn’t be happening. He swallowed the sticky lump of regret in his throat and was about to renew his assault on the cell door when a new sound reached his ears. A high, screeching roar floated in over the sound of the waterfall.

“What the hell was that?” He asked himself, but he knew.

He’d heard that very sound once before when Corypheus had unleashed his army upon Haven. The memory that sound recalled made his blood run cold.

“Maker’s Breath!” He cursed.

 

~

 

The sound of that roar cut through my defences like butter. I knew that voice from years gone by. I stood there gaping stupidly, as it talked to me, taunting and cajoling. It laughed at me, called me weak and spat on my honour. My confusion morphed into something far more primal as it spoke, and I growled low in my throat as another roar split the air, challenging me.

I was hurting so badly - so angry at all the maltreatment - and now my reign as Alpha was under threat. There was no worse dishonour, in the dragon hierarchy, than to have your position of authority questioned. It was all too much and with the events of the previous week lying heavily upon my shoulders, there was nothing more that I could do. I let go.

 

~

 

Cullen stood there for a moment, undecided, until the second roar rent the air. He was about to turn back towards the courtyard, to locate the Inquisitor, when a savage snarl erupted from the cell behind him. Whirling around, he saw that Senta had come alive. She crouched slightly, with her muscles bunching, as if readying herself to spring.

“Valtok,” She snapped, in an inhuman rumble.

Cullen backed away unconsciously, his eyes widening in fright. The space around Senta was wavering unnaturally, like she was calling upon some kind of magic that he’d never witnessed before. The air grew hot, thick and heavy, making every breath a challenge. He watched, mesmerised and unable to move, as Senta raised her hands; her fingers bent into claws. The energy shimmering and wavering around her seemed to gather and pucker as she called upon whatever power she had.

Sensing what was about to happen, Cullen was able to break his immobility and took cover behind one of the central pillars, just as Senta shoved her hands forward with a cry of rage. The energy that was building around her was sent barrelling forwards into the cell door. The door exploded outwards, with an almighty crash, in a mass of rubble and twisted metal. Cullen shouted aloud as the force of the blast sent dust and debris careering past him on either side.

Covering his mouth with his arm, to prevent him from breathing in the airborne dust particles, he risked a peek around his cover as he heard footsteps crunching over the wreckage.

Through the dirt, he could see Senta slowly emerging from her cell, her eyes ablaze with light. She made her way almost luxuriously over to the door to the Sky Cells, padding over the remains of her cage, and pushed the door open. She disappeared from view.

Cullen knew that she was not herself and refused to allow her to come to any harm. He could not let her out of his sight. Taking one last shocked look at the carnage around him, he followed her through the door.

As he entered the Sky Cells, he saw that Senta had stopped just shy of the lip of the massive hole that had been blown out centuries ago. She stood, head cocked, gazing out in wonder at the open expanse before her. She was snapped out of her trance when the screeching roar sounded a third time, seemingly more impatient than before.

She tipped her head back and roared at the sky in response, obliterating the sound of the waterfall and stunning Cullen where he crouched. Through his daze and the ringing in his ears, he saw Senta bunch her legs, her wings held loosely at her sides. She was going to leap!

“No!” He screamed, lurching to his feet.

He ran towards her, his world jarring with each step, and leapt. With his arms fully extended and his fingers reaching, he managed to grab hold of her waist as she tipped forwards. He realised then that it was too late - her feet had already left solid ground and, before he could find purchase, he was dragged into the abyss as she took flight.


	18. Holding On

 

Blinding white light was all Cullen could see. Air rushed by him in a blast of noise and the onslaught on his face made it hard to breathe. All reason had left his panicked mind, but the one fundamental instinct to hold on clutched at his heart with ferocious force. His legs kicked back and forth uselessly, trying to find ground that was no longer there. With his cheek mashed against the back of Senta’s thigh, the urge to look down was overpowering. He squeezed his streaming eyes shut against the torrent of air and prayed.

Senta’s wings beat heavily on either side of him and he could feel the whisper of their cool texture upon his arms, as they bore them ever higher. His senses were painfully alert and he shivered violently as the cold intensified the higher they ascended. The irrepressible spasm that ran through him dislodged his grip from Senta’s thighs and he cried out in dismay as he slid down an inch. He looked up in wide-eyed horror as he clung on, hoping to see Senta’s friendly face staring back, but she continued to stare upwards as if she could not feel him.

He tried to call her name, but the moment he opened his mouth, air rushed in and choked him. Fear constricted his chest painfully, causing him to breathe in fits and starts, as his hold on her legs began to weaken. He knew that he could not hold on much longer. His fingers were losing grip on the slick metal of his arm guards and he could feel himself slipping.

_Shit!_ He thought in alarm.

At that moment, he lost hold for a second and was dragged down to her knees before he managed to clamp his arms together again. Squeezing with his elbows and digging his fingers in deep, he whimpered in terror, as his arms burned with fatigue. Turning his face to one side, he managed to shriek her name.

 

~

 

I came to with a start. Confusion racked through me as I found myself thousands of feet in the air. My pace had been hectic, rising at an incredible speed, so I slowed myself to get my bearings. As my speed dropped by half, I felt a lot heavier than usual and I found that I couldn’t move my legs. I looked down in puzzlement and almost forgot how to fly from what I saw. Cullen’s panicked face stared up at me, as the empty expanse yawned out beneath us.

I jerked involuntarily and floundered in my shock. The sudden movement forced Cullen’s arms apart and time slowed to a crawl as our eyes locked in wide-eyed horror. Cullen fell backwards in slow motion, arms pin-wheeling and his legs akimbo. Then, time caught up and he hurtled away from me at a sickening speed, helped along by his heavy armour. I immediately entered a dive, like I’d practised before, with my wings held tightly by my sides and let gravity take over.

The world rushed by in a blur, but I kept Cullen in my sights. He’d begun to tumble and roll uncontrollably and I willed him with all my might to arch his back and extend his arms and legs wide. I was closer to him now, but the ground was approaching at a terrifying rate. I pulled my wings and limbs even closer to my body and shot downwards in pursuit.

He was so close now, it was infuriating. I didn’t want to reach for him yet, putting us both in danger of missing him and causing me to fall behind, so I kept my position and continued to gain on him. The ground was so close now, fear pushed through my control and laced its way into my heart. I could see figures appearing in the ravine and knew that I would have to make a grab for Cullen very soon.

Drawing level with his spinning form, I waited impatiently for my opportunity. As his legs passed up and over his head, I shot my hand out and grabbed his ankle. Grabbing hold of his other ankle, while it kicked and flailed, I pulled with all my might. I pulled until his body was positioned flush with mine. Using my body as a barrier so he could not enter into another spin, I let go for a second and his body mashed into mine. I laced my arms under his armpits and held his back tight against my chest. Entwining my ankles with his, I held his legs still so I could steer us both.

There was no time to lose. With Cullen safe and secure in my embrace, I immediately opened my wings wide and swung our legs forward to dramatically slow our descent. Hundreds of tents could now be seen lining the valley floor as we drew closer still. Cullen yelled in fright as I flapped as hard as I could, bringing us out of our dive just metres away from certain death.

Gaining height again at a leisurely pace, I directed us back towards Skyhold. We flew low over the battlement walls and, untwining our ankles, I let Cullen hang from the underarms as we approached the courtyard. A crowd had gathered to watch our approach, the Inquisitor among them, and I set Cullen down gently in front of them. He immediately fell to his hands and knees, breathing harshly. I landed a few feet away to the sound of coughing and retching.

I turned around quickly in concern and scowled as the Inquisitor dropped to her knees beside him, rubbing and patting his back. He vomited again as I approached carefully. Sitting up and breathing deeply, Cullen wiped his mouth clean. He pushed the Inquisitor away unceremoniously and stood up on quivering legs. The crowd drew back to encircle us both, as he tottered towards me. I caught him as he stumbled and held him as he found his feet once again. He grabbed onto my shoulders and looked emotionally into my eyes. Suddenly, he pulled me into a powerful hug that contradicted the fragile man in front of me. His breath tickled my neck, as he whispered into my shoulder.

“Maker… I thought I was dead… thank you!”

I hugged him back, nestling into his body. I took a quick glance at the Inquisitor and spotted her standing on the other side of the circle, eyeing us jealously. Iron Bull stood next to her, with a big hand placed supportively on her shoulder. I snorted derisively and snuggled my face deep into Cullen’s neck. How good it felt to be this close to someone again, even though my tired mind railed against his betrayal, conflicting with my deeper emotions.

Our reunion was cut short by a fourth and final screeching roar. We broke apart immediately to look in the direction of the sound. My eyes hardened at the sight of the snowy white dragon perched atop the mountain peak. Now I remembered how I came to be free. The rage returned, but was no longer all-consuming now that I was free of the confined space of my cell. I turned bodily towards the new threat and was about to confront him, when Cullen’s hand held me back. I looked back questioningly. All of the Inquisition’s inner circle had gathered around me, seeking answers.

“What is that dragon doing here, Senta? Why isn’t she attacking?” He asked, quietly.

I looked at Cullen carefully and then back at the dragon shifting impatiently on its perch.

“He…” I said vaguely, our eyes meeting across the valley.

“What?” Cullen said in confusion.

“She’s a _he_ ,” I said clearly, so everybody could hear me, “and he’s here for me.”

The Inquisitor stood at the head of the crowd and stepped forwards, laughing at my comment.

“That dragon has _wings_ , Senta - it can’t possibly be male. Drakes don’t have wings.”

The crowd around us murmured its approval.

“Oh?” I asked, turning to her aggressively, “And how many dragons do you know?”

The Inquisitor frowned at me, but could not come up with an answer to my question. She crossed her arms angrily and stuck her chin out at me.

Bull chimed in, “Whatever it is, boss, it looks pissed.”

I turned to him and instead of looking worried, he actually looked excited. I couldn’t help myself - I burst out into throaty laughter. The Inquisitor’s frown deepened, but the others smiled in response to my mirth. Maker, I liked Iron Bull - he was more dragon than he knew.

“Enough!” She yelled, “Explain yourself!”

Sobering quickly, I marched up to the Inquisitor and pressed my face close to hers. Everyone tensed, ready to spring and defend their Inquisitor if need be.

“He’s here for me - because of you,” I growled, “he felt my anguish, my pain and came to claim my right as Alpha. He considers me _weak_.” I spat that last part.

“I’ll have to battle him and win for my claim to remain intact.”

The Inquisitor backed away uncertainly and looked off towards the dragon.

“What should happen if you lose?” She asked carefully.

“He will either kill me or try to mate with me,” I said matter of factly, “either one, to assert his dominance.”

An intake of breath sounded from behind me and I turned to see Cullen’s face screwed up in abhorrence. He pulled me into his arms possessively and I immediately felt overwhelmed and trapped. I struggled in his grip and he released me with a confused expression. Breathing in panicky gasps, I tried to calm myself.

“I’m sorry - I -”

Shaking my head and taking a deep breath, I managed to continue, “It’s too soon… it’s - tight spaces… constricting…”

He looked at me sadly, with guilt written all across his face. He didn’t say anything and dropped his eyes to the ground. Disapproval and rejection radiated from him in waves.

“Cullen,” I said, gently lifting his chin, “if I have any say on what is to happen, then he’ll have to kill me before I let him defile me.”

Cullen refused to meet my eyes and I let his chin drop as I turned back to the Inquisitor.

“If I should lose and he kills me, Skyhold will be in danger…”

The Inquisitor nodded her understanding and allowed me to leave the crowd, walking into the centre of the courtyard. Cullen called for the Inquisition’s archers to stand ready.

“No!” I shouted forcefully and Cullen gaped at me, wounded.

I looked at him sharply and said, “This is a one on one battle. If I receive help from anyone, my claim will become defunct. Survival of the fittest…” I huffed a cynical laugh.

He acquiesced and stared at me unhappily. I nodded at him and continued to the centre of the courtyard. Spreading my wings wide, with my eyes glowing once again, I took off into the bright, white sky.

The dragon watched my progress intently and growled low in his throat as a bright yellow light enveloped me. The yellow light spread out from my eyes and covered my entire body. After a few moments it exploded outwards in a blinding ball of energy. Seconds later, I erupted from the energy ball, transformed into a massive sinewy beast, roaring in ecstasy at the sky, with my black scales glinting in the morning sun.

Landing on a mountain peak adjacent to my adversary, I fixed him with a penetrating stare and bared my teeth in a vicious snarl. My wings lay unfurled and poised at my sides, while lengthy barbs along my back stood on end and spines all along my face and body rippled threateningly.

I greeted him coldly in a low rumble, “Valtok.”

He crouched low and returned my snarl, “Senta.”


	19. The Battle Begins

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> These next few chapters I've been dying to write! I hope you enjoy them as much as I enjoyed bringing them to life! xx

 

We stood appraising each other for a moment, assessing one another’s demeanour, noting minor differences from when we had last met and seeking potential weaknesses.

The years had not been kind to Valtok. His scales stood out from his body, like a fish with dropsy, and his colour was muted and grey. He regarded me with bloodshot eyes, while his snout dripped with… was that foam?

Shocked and with uneasiness building, I asked, “What has happened to you?”

Growling low in his throat and snapping his jaws at me from his position, he said, “You think your clan is safe?”

His tail lashed angrily from side to side and the fin running along its length swished through the air, almost hypnotising. I tried not to look at it and lifted my eyes to meet his and found them watching me intently.

Something was wrong with him, something absolutely fundamental and I was missing it! It infuriated me, it was right in front of me and I couldn’t place it. He seemed off-kilter, his actions jerky and strange. The smell of offal radiated from him across the chasm, sweet like decay. I wrinkled my nose and recoiled slightly in disgust.

“What are you talking about?” I asked in exasperation – he wasn’t making sense.

“The Elder One will come for us all,” He said; his head swaying lazily back and forth… back and forth, “I will become Alpha - take control… win his favour once again…”

Before I could process his words, he lunged at me with such speed that belied his sickly appearance. I cried out in pained alarm as he bowled into me, sending us both sprawling in a jumble down the mountain side. His claws raked at my hide and his jaws snapped, as we fell in a snarling tangle of limbs.

We fell apart within the saddle of the two adjoining mountains, both battered and bruised. Lifting myself up shakily, I saw the snow around me had been stained crimson. An open wound oozed steadily on my shoulder, from where one of Valtok’s tusks had punctured me as we collided. I didn’t feel any pain – I was seething at Valtok’s trickery and absolute disregard for tradition. Even a challenger respected the Alpha enough to follow protocol. It was the dragon way.

Wheeling around to face him as he pulled himself from the floor, my rage exploded from me in an almighty roar. Saliva flew from my mouth, as the savage roar echoed around the valley. Before he had time to react, I pulled my head back; sucking in the bitingly cold air. My throat, all along my lengthy neck and chest, began to glow like burning embers. Bracing myself, with my talons digging into the snow on either side of me, I unleashed an immense torrent of white-hot flames straight into his face. Valtok merely had time to exclaim before he was engulfed in torrid chaos.

Screeching and writhing in agony, he managed to break free of my onslaught and took to the skies, scorched and blackened.

_Fool!_ I thought, as I pushed off in pursuit.

No creature was faster than I in the skies. He was stocky and slow, his flight undulating and laboured. No match for my slim and aerodynamic form. I shot after him like an arrow fired from a trebuchet.

He was rising in a lazy arch, before Skyhold, and I was closing quickly. This will end, _right now_.

His finned tail waved tantalisingly just metres from my muzzle. As with Cullen, I refused to make my move too soon, so I waited patiently as we rose steadily. Centimetres, millimetres! _Now!_ I opened my maw to clamp onto Valtok’s tail. I never got the chance.

With unnatural speed, Valtok twisted onto his back and sprayed a deluge of icy breath into my face. Ice filled my mouth and froze inside my nostrils; heavy and suffocating. The stream of ice flowed over my head and over my back, freezing one of my wings in place. Unable to breath and unable to fly, I plummeted towards Skyhold.

I watched helplessly as Skyhold’s battlements rushed to meet me. Twisting at the last moment to protect my face, I met the solid stone with a sickening crack.

 

~

 

The ground shook as Senta collided with the battlement wall. The Inquisitor and her companions had rushed to the ramparts to watch the dragons’ progress and were knocked off their feet from the impact. Righting themselves quickly, they all peered over the wall to observe Senta’s form splayed out on the rocks below, ice and snow littering her body.

“SENTA!” Cullen called desperately.

“Draw your weapons! Be ready!” The Inquisitor yelled for all to hear.

The women and children had already been herded down into the protective depths of Skyhold, so only the able bodied were left. It was too far up for the Inquisition’s army to reach them in time and Valtok was already banking back around for a fresh attack. They were on their own. They drew their weapons.

The Inquisitor looked around at her friends. All shared a grim look of determination upon their faces and at that moment, she felt such pride for them. Then, suddenly, Bull’s voice broke the silence.

“Boss! Incoming!” He cried as he pushed the Inquisitor out of danger.

Everyone scattered as an ice ball crashed into the battlement wall, splintering into shards and showering the party with refuse. The Inquisitor found herself on top of The Iron Bull and struggled to push herself off. Something hard was digging into her hip.

“Bull…” She said in exasperation, “I hope that’s the haft of your axe I’m feeling!”

Looking up, she spotted Bull’s battleaxe lying a few feet away. Bull grabbed her arse roughly and growled up at her. Grunting and slapping at him agitatedly, she managed to free herself from Bull’s grip and stood up. Dusting herself off, she grabbed Bull’s axe and shoved it forcefully into his arms.

“Later!” She yelled, raising her eyebrows, as she picked up her greatsword from the floor, while running towards Valtok as he alighted with a rumble on the rampart.

Grinning hungrily after the Inquisitor, he raised his axe high as Valtok roared into their faces.

“Taarsidath-an halsaam!!” He shouted joyously as he ran headlong into the fray.

 

~

 

Consciousness came back to me slowly and painfully. Good, pain was good - at least I wasn’t paralysed by the fall. Shifting slightly, so I could drag my legs under me, I pushed myself tenderly up onto my stomach. The world pitched and rolled dangerously and my ears rang. I lay my head on my claws with a groan.

When the spinning had ceased, I was able to look around and get my bearings; the ringing in my ears persisting. It seemed that I had fallen onto a rocky outcrop after colliding with the battlement wall.

I realised, with a jolt, that I could breathe. The ice in my nostrils and mouth had been knocked free and the remnants were slowly melting away. Breathing was still painful, but I thanked my good fortune and hoped it had extended as far as my wings. Twisting my head backwards on my long neck, I could see that my back was dusted with ice and snow, but the affected wing was no longer stuck. Giving them an experimental stretch, I was overjoyed to find that they were extremely stiff, but otherwise unharmed.

Looking up at the battlement wall, I could see a spray of ice from where I had struck the stone. I laughed to myself happily. It seemed that Valtok’s attempt to kill me had actually saved my life. The ice had broken my fall and had absorbed most of the impact.

Speaking of which, where was he? At that moment, the ringing in my ears began to clear and a great cacophony reached me. Yelling, metal clanging against stone, screeching roars and the sound of ice sticking and forming hit me all at once. Skyhold! They were in trouble!

Pushing myself shakily into a standing position, I looked up and past the starburst of my crash site. From my position, I could see Valtok’s rear end and back legs as he perched precariously on the ramparts, with his tail lashing backwards and forwards. From the sound of it, no one could get even remotely close to land a good hit.

_Maker, why did I have to fall so far?_ I thought tiredly.

There was nothing for it. Digging my claws into the dry and crumbling mortar between the massive blocks of stone, I began to climb.

 

~

 

The courtyard was a mess. Great spikes and pillars of ice jutted out from the ground, with Valtok at their source. Bodies of fallen comrades littered the floor. Cullen and the other’s had taken refuge behind one such structure, while the Inquisitor stood alone, behind another, across the way.

Breathing heavily, with blood running freely from a cut on his temple, Cullen called over to the Inquisitor, “It’s no use! We can’t get close!”

The Inquisitor gritted her teeth and punched the ice in frustration. Peeking through a gap in her shelter, she spied on Valtok as he sat patiently, watching their refuge for any signs of movement.

“Shit!” She cursed, slapping the ice once again, “Solas, Vivienne, Dorian! Can you get close enough to cast any fire magic?”

Before any of them could answer, Valtok released a screeching roar and a flood of icy breath flew past them. Everyone hit the floor, making themselves as small as possible, protecting their faces from the flying shards of ice. The Inquisitor cried out in pain as a flying piece of shrapnel caught her arm.

“Inquisitor!” Cullen yelled, as frost settled around them.

Gripping her arm tightly, as blood leaked through her fingers, the Inquisitor choked out, “I’m fine!”

She slumped with her back against the wall of ice and slid down to a sitting position, with one knee up and the other leg stretched out in front of her. She looked at the others with worry plain in her eyes.

“We’re trapped,” She said.


	20. Desperate Times

 

The ice was wet and slick against Cullen’s back, as he leant heavily against the structure arching over his head. He did not feel the cold. He was frozen inside - numb and rocked to the core. His longsword was held loosely in his right hand, forgotten, while his shield dragged aimlessly along the floor. His vision had turned a hazy red, as the blood from his wound seeped into his eye.

All was deathly still, as time passed in a stalemate. The Inquisition was pinned in, unable to move, whilst their last hope lay broken upon the rocks below. The dreadful image of Senta’s lifeless form was burned permanently into his retinas. No matter how he tried, he couldn’t shake the sight from his mind.

Remorse constricted his throat, until the air whistled in and out as he breathed, and unshed tears burned angrily behind his eyes. He squeezed his eyes shut and threw his head back viciously, smacking his skull against the ice with a thud. Even the pain in his head couldn’t divert the agony in his heart. A single tear trickled unbidden from his scrunched eyes and wended its way slowly down his cheek, dispersing as it reached the dusting of his stubble.

The feeling of a light touch upon his shoulder wrenched him from his tortured thoughts. He looked up groggily and was met with Dorian’s sympathetic face.

Shaking him lightly, he said, “Strength Cullen – Senta would not want us to give up. Not yet at any rate.”

Cullen held on to Dorian’s arm with a powerful grip. He took a deep breath and exhaled shakily. Then, his once devastated expression turned determined.

“Okay - we need a plan,” he said, “but keep your voices down. It seems our ice-spitting friend can understand us…”

To emphasize this point, Valtok rumbled deep in his throat, which could be felt vibrating deep within their chests like thunder. Heavy footfalls could be heard as he shifted himself into a more comfortable position. He wasn’t going anywhere in a hurry.

Cullen watched Valtok from his hiding place with hatred in his eyes. Huffing angrily, he turned his back on the unwelcome sight and set his attention back onto his colleagues.

“Any ideas?” He ventured.

Sera immediately stuck her head out from her place beside Iron Bull.

“Arrows.” She said with a serious expression.

Blackwall, standing next to her, threw his head back with a groan.

“That’s your answer to everything!” He whispered in his bass voice.

“Yeah? What if it is?” Sera retorted, confronting him, “They haven’t let me down yet, Beardy!”

Blackwall snorted derisively and planted a hairy hand on her face, pushing her out of the way.

He leaned forwards so Cullen could see his bearded face past Iron Bull’s bulk.

“I say us warriors should charge - divert his attention so the mages can get in some good hits with their fire magic.”

He looked fondly at the boisterous elf writhing about in his grip, “Maybe then the rogues can tickle his arse with arrows so we can get into a better position for the offensive.”

Sera coughed and spluttered, floundering about, trying to grab his arm. Eventually she succeeded and pushed it roughly aside.

“Get your sweaty hand out of my face, ass-biscuit!” She wiped her face in disgust, “Yuk! Man sweat!”

 Rounding on him, she challenged, “How about I put an arrow in your face?”

Blackwall held his hands up in mock terror, teasing her, “Ohhhh!”

Iron Bull was bent over, shaking with laughter, with his battleaxe held loosely in his hands.

Grand Enchanter Vivienne looked down her nose at their antics and said snootily, “Well, my dears, I’m glad you find this all highly amusing, but I’d rather get down to business so we can all go about our day!” As an afterthought, she added, “I’m terribly sorry for your loss, Commander.”

Cullen’s eyebrows knitted together as he said, “Thank you… I agree with Vivienne - “

“- Of course you do, my dear.” Vivienne butt in with an airy wave of her hand.

Cullen shot her a derogatory look, as he continued, but she was too busy fussing with her robes to notice, “- We do not have the luxury to fight amongst ourselves right now - we can do that as soon as that beast is dead.”

Solas was positioned at the end of the line, standing next to Cole who was rubbing his temples absently.

He waved his staff gently to garner the others’ attention. When all were turned in his direction, he whispered clearly, “I agree with the Warden. A diversion is our best option.”

A heated discussion broke out between the group, with each person giving their own opinion. Within a few minutes, with a firm hand from Cullen, they came to a decision. The majority had opted for Blackwall’s full frontal assault by the warriors, while the ranged party members fanned out behind them sending their strongest attacks at Valtok’s flanks.

The party bent silently to their tasks, making final checks on their equipment; making sure that belts were secure, that arrows were easily within reach and that armour moved without restriction.

Cassandra stood slightly apart from the group, with Varric loading his crossbow, Bianca, nearby.

Peering around their cover at the fearsome foe ahead of them, she sighed to herself, “This is a fool’s errand.”

Varric snorted and looked up from his work. “The almighty Cassandra is getting the pre-battle willies?? _That_ I never thought I’d see.”

Cassandra pulled back with a cry. She thought that nobody had heard.

“I do not have the _willies_ , as you say!” She said indignantly, fixing Varric with a hard stare, “I merely feel that this is not the best of plans…”

Varric straightened and looked up at Cassandra with a sad smile.

“No, Seeker – it’s not. It’s more like a ‘last stand’.”

Shrugging his shoulders and throwing his hands dramatically in the air, he exclaimed, “Get eaten alive or go out in a blaze of glory! It would make a good story, actually – remind me, if we manage to get out of this alive.”

He bent back to his task, placed a bolt into its slot and wound the crank until Bianca was good and tight.

“I never thought I’d end my days the same way as Anthony…” Cassandra said wistfully.

Varric looked up with confusion, “…Anthony…?”

“My brother…” Cassandra said and would say no more.

Varric shuffled uncomfortably with this new revelation and was glad to see Cullen approaching.

“Are we ready?” He asked them.

“Yep!” Varric said happily, slinging Bianca over his shoulder, “This is for Senta!”

Cassandra turned from her musings and nodded her agreement, with a resolute look upon her face that accentuated her masculine features.

Cullen nodded thankfully and the trio turned back towards the compacted group surrounding the Inquisitor, whose arm had been bound messily with a scrap of cloth. They were about to get into formation when an agonised roar split the air.

 

~

 

My ascent up Skyhold’s northern wall was slow going. The walls were ancient and the mortar in between was cracked and crumbling. I had to pick my handholds very carefully or risk alerting my opponent to my presence. I could not allow that - stealth was key for what I had in mind.

Traversing my crash sight was the hardest part. The splash of ice, where I had met with the stone, had melted into a white slush that was slippery and treacherous. Twice I slipped and stumbled, sending debris tumbling and rebounding off the rocks below. Each time I froze, absolutely certain that Valtok had heard. The last time I stood stock still with my eyes wide and my heart beating like crazy in my chest, as he rumbled a growl that echoed around the valley. All was silent after that. What was going _on_ up there?

He was only a few head-lengths away from me now - tantalisingly close. I pulled myself even closer and sat motionlessly underneath him, as he shifted uncomfortably. His tail grazed against my face and he stiffened for a moment, until movement drew his attention away. The sound of clanking armour and weapons reached my ears. It was now or never.

Lunging upwards in one liquid motion, I latched onto his ankle, feeling the small bones grind and break in my jaw. Blood flowed freely into my open mouth. Valtok let loose an agonised shriek, as he was dragged downwards. Letting go of the ruin of his ankle, I grabbed hold of the base of his tail, my teeth ripping into his hide as I pulled with all my might. Valtok screamed and scrabbled for grip, as he fell backwards over my head.

Unable to open his wings in time to slow his descent, he collided with the ledge that had saved my life and rebounded violently, ripping the membranes of his wings. Perched in his previous position upon the battlement wall, I watched him as he tumbled into the abyss. Before he hit the ground, he managed to right himself and limped into the sky. Good, I had kind of hoped it wouldn’t be that easy. Looking back at my friends gathered among the wreckage of the courtyard, I met Cullen’s astonished gaze and nodded at him before taking off after Valtok.

Filled with bloodlust, I shot after him, as the adrenaline in my body obliterated the pain and loosened the stiffness in my limbs. As I caught up with Valtok, he let loose a panicked cry as he twisted in the air to face me. I would not fall for the same move twice. Feinting quickly to the right, I managed to position myself underneath him. Wasting no time, I twisted around and grabbed onto his back with my talons. I bit brutally into the knot of muscle where his wing met his body and he screeched in anguish, as his wing hung dead and useless.

Keeping hold of him, I twisted backwards in a loop the loop and released him at the very last moment, sending him careering into empty space. He screamed in fury all the way down and landed in a heap close to the bridge that stretched across the chasm.

Landing gently close by, I approached his broken and hitching form. He stared at me with wide, rolling eyes. Incredibly, he was laughing and sneering at me as I advanced.

“Don’t make me do this, Valtok,” I begged as I drew up to him, “we have already lost too many of our number.”

“It is already... too late,” He said and bared his teeth at me in a naked snarl.

I was standing so close, I couldn’t help but notice the anomaly protruding from his gums. Taking his form in as a whole, I could see the same red substance growing out from beneath his scales and lining his nostrils. I drew back with a revolted cry and stumbled in the soft snow. Without a second’s hesitation, Valtok gathered the last of his strength and launched himself at me with the speed of a snake. Catching me under the arm, his jaws tore into my soft skin.

I yowled in agony as the sickness burned into me, all-consuming and maddening. Acting on utter instinct, I twisted my long neck and sunk my teeth deep into his throat. Swivelling my head from side to side, I ripped his oesophagus from its home in a fine spray of blood. Valtok fell in a lifeless and bloody heap at my feet.

Shocked and appalled, I staggered aimlessly as my blood flowed freely from the wound in my side. With the last of my senses, I roared my victory to the skies, tapering off into a wail of mourning. I collapsed to the floor, my power leaving me, transforming me back to my human form. I lay there hyperventilating, as the freezing snow slowly stained red, saturating my clothes. I lay there staring into oblivion, as the sound of footsteps pounded relentlessly closer, over the chorus of responding wails, from my fellow brethren, that filled the air.

A pair of hands grabbed me and turned me gently onto my back, cradling me tenderly. A voice called to me through the haze. The voice yelled for help, yelled for the surgeon - yelled for someone to please help. I grabbed hold of the fur lining their coat.

Looking blearily up into their face, I tried to form words, “Cullen… re-... red…”

 

~

 

Cullen gripped Senta’s face with a panicky grasp and tried to shake her awake. Her eyes opened, unfocused and rolled wildly, trying to find him. After everything they’d been through, he couldn’t lose her now.

“Senta!” He coaxed firmly, “Senta! I’m here!”

Her eyes fixed on his, but looked through him at the same time, unseeing. Her breath hitched painfully in her chest. Cullen’s tears fell unchecked onto her blood-stained face.

She tried to form words and Cullen pressed his ear close to her mouth and listened intently.

“Cullen… re-... red…”

Through his panic and grief, he couldn’t understand what she was trying to say. As he tried to ask her again, her hand tightened on his fur hood and her breathing grew to a fever pitch. All at once, her eyes rolled back into her head and her hand fell away, limp and still. He cried out in desolation, as he rocked her quiet form tightly in his arms.

“Don’t leave, me,” He whispered, “I love you…”

The surgeon arrived then, with her assistant, and pried Senta’s lifeless form from Cullen’s hysterical clutches. They placed her gently onto a stretcher and whisked her away immediately towards Skyhold and the infirmary lying within. Cullen followed closely behind.

 

~

 

The Inquisitor stood and watched the entire scene unfold, while bile rose in her throat; her eyes burned in their sockets. Regret pooled in her stomach like a lead weight. Not sure what to do with herself, she hugged her arms and rubbed them absently.

Cole stood close by, studying Valtok’s shattered corpse. He turned to the Inquisitor with sorrow in his eyes. The Inquisitor forgot her troubles for a moment and approached Cole with concern.

“What’s wrong, Cole?” She asked quietly.

Cole looked back at Valtok and said clearly, “His mind was full of red and chaos, but in the end… he only wanted to go home.”

The Inquisitor stared at Cole, agape, and then realisation struck all at once.

Yelling for immediate assistance, they set about burning Valtok’s body. As the flames rose ferociously into the sky, the Inquisitor’s mind turned once again to Senta.


	21. Memories

 

Pick axes swished through the air, clattering against the pillars of ice that littered the courtyard, while mages stood close at hand to melt the chunks as they were loaded into buckets. Now that Skyhold was accessible again, the Inquisitor had called for a small relief force to tend to the wounded and clear the grounds. Considering the source of the destruction, they just could not risk contamination.

The Inquisitor was standing to one side of the operations, watching the soldier’s progress as she mulled over the previous day’s events. She was quite shocked at how she felt about the whole situation, especially now that Senta lay unresponsive in the infirmary. Guilt and uncertainty ran riot, as the last words that Senta spoke to her echoed in her mind.

_He’s here for me, because of you… because of you…_

Standing there deep in thought, cupping an elbow and resting her chin in the other, she did not notice Ser Barris approaching her.

“Inquisitor!” He said sharply, saluting.

The Inquisitor jumped badly and held a hand to her chest to still her racing heart.

“Ser Barris!” She exclaimed, “I apologise… you caught me off guard.”

“Apologies, Your Worship – I have come to report that all of the wounded have now been seen to and now that we have more soldiers available, the removal of ice from the grounds is picking up speed.”

The Inquisitor nodded her head gently in agreement, as she continued to watch the soldiers hacking diligently away at the ice.

“Very good,” She said, “Have you seen our Commander since last night?”

Ser Barris shook his head slowly, linking his hands behind his back, “Unfortunately not…”

Not wanting to push his luck, but feeling piqued all the same, he said, “I think he’s still with the dragon lady… but his help is greatly needed here, Inquisitor - morale is low. We cannot march upon Adamant in our current state.”

The Inquisitor scowled, but did not answer and he looked off to the side in embarrassment. They stood together for a moment, watching the soldiers and mages working together. After a couple of minutes, Ser Barris looked at the Inquisitor again, properly this time, and studied her carefully. She looked crestfallen and distracted, much like the rest of the Inquisition. It seemed she was fully aware of their situation, quite personally. He looked at the floor and shifted uncomfortably.

Eventually, he said, “Well… I shan't keep you any longer.”  

As he bowed and turned to leave, the Inquisitor spoke vaguely,  “Her name is Senta.”

Ser Barris looked confused for a moment and said, “Your Worship?”

The Inquisitor looked at him sadly, “The dragon lady… her name is Senta.”

He nodded respectfully and waited to see if the Inquisitor would speak again, as she returned to staring at the two factions working together. They reminded the Inquisitor that no matter what their differences, it was still possible to forgive old wrongs and work together in a time of great need.

She turned away from them then and gave Ser Barris her full attention.

“I will speak with Commander Cullen,” She said assertively and Ser Barris bowed again, deeply.

“Your Worship,” he said in thanks and returned to his duties.

The Inquisitor sighed a heavy sigh. She knew exactly what she would find - this would not be easy.

 

~

 

Wounded men and women littered the ground of the infirmary. Valtok had hit them hard, but the Inquisitor could still not fathom why. She understood wanting to usurp Senta’s position as Alpha, but why attack the Inquisition? What had he hoped to gain?

Swiping at her tired eyes, as she passed through the infirmary door, she looked up to take in the scene around her. Senta lay on a cot in the far corner, partitioned off from the other patients. There was no need to let them see her fate - morale had already taken a massive blow - they would not understand why the Inquisitor was allowing her to live. Weaving her way through the maze of arms and legs, she made her way towards the closed off area.

As she reached the partition, the Surgeon emerged from behind it. Looking up from her notes, she started a little when she found herself face to face with the Inquisitor.

“Your Worship!” She exhaled in a relieved sigh, “Apologies, you gave me a fright - I did not expect to see you here.”

The Inquisitor looked perplexed for a moment and said, “Why ever not?”

The Surgeon looked around her at the moaning bodies strewn every which way and turned a sympathetic face towards the Inquisitor.

“Forgive me, Your Worship,” she said, “you see enough of battle, I did not think that you’d want to see any more than you absolutely had to.”

The Inquisitor followed her gaze around the room and smiled kindly at the patients who were awake and watching.

Turning her attention back to the Surgeon, she said, “My people’s welfare is important to me. I need to let them see that once in a while.”

The Surgeon nodded her head and smiled gratefully at the Inquisitor. They stood for a moment in awkward silence, as the Inquisitor slipped back into a pensive state.

Then, the Surgeon cleared her throat politely and asked, “Is there something I may do for you, Your Worship?”

Jerked from her thoughts, she looked up at the Surgeon quizzically, “I’m sorry? - Oh! Yes!”

She gestured at the clipboard in the Surgeon’s hands, bringing her attention to Senta’s notes.

“I wondered if you could update me on our friend’s current status?”

The Surgeon looked at her notes sadly and proceeded to usher the Inquisitor back towards the door. The Inquisitor went reluctantly and turned back to her once they were outside, with a silent question, as the Surgeon closed the door quietly behind her. The Inquisitor cocked an eyebrow expectantly when the Surgeon approached her.

“Forgive me, Your Worship - I thought it best to give us some privacy.”

The Inquisitor dipped her head in thanks and waved a hand for the Surgeon to proceed, “Please.”

Eyeing her notes, the Surgeon sighed unhappily, “I’m afraid it’s not good news…”

The Inquisitor crossed her arms and listened carefully, as the Surgeon spoke.

“We’ve managed to suture the bite wound - such a nasty thing - and the blood is clotting nicely, however, it won’t react to any healing spells. That’s highly unusual - even Master Solas was unsuccessful.”

The Inquisitor shifted unconsciously, as her brows knitted together in a frown.

“So what does that mean, exactly?”

The Surgeon’s mouth turned down at the edges and she sniffed disconsolately.

“The red lyrium, My Lady…” Her eyes were wide with worry, and disgust crept into her voice as she said, “It’s not allowing her to heal. It’s… it’s growing _out_ of the wound. Just a little, but it wasn’t there yesterday.”

The Inquisitor looked at the Surgeon in shock.

“But that’s impossible!” She exclaimed, “It takes months for red lyrium to take hold of their hosts! At least from what we’ve learnt from recovered journals of infected Templars…”

The Surgeon shrugged her shoulders and said, “I don’t know what’s happening to that poor girl - Master Solas has a theory about dragons being magic made manifest and so red lyrium affects them differently - but it’s all hypothetical.”

She looked to the Inquisitor with sorrow plain on her face, “All I know is that it’s taking over and soon, she’ll be lost to us forever.”

 

~

 

Senta’s chest rose and fell steadily, hitching slightly on each exhale, and a light sheen of sweat covered her brow. If it wasn’t for the shocking injury in her side, it would have seemed as though she were merely sleeping.

Cullen sat on a stool beside her, his fingers intertwined with her unresponsive ones. He held a damp, leather cloth in his other hand, which he used to wipe the perspiration away. A small bucket of water stood between his feet and he let go of her hand only so he could dip the leather cloth into it. Wringing it out as best he could, he laid it across her brow and immediately took up her hand again.

He sat that way for several minutes, holding her hand and tenderly caressing her hairline, while humming “The Dawn Will Come” quietly. He knew that the sound of Haven’s people singing that song in unison had drawn Senta to their camp that fateful night. It had been her favourite ever since. He hoped that, somehow, it would lead her to him once again.

The thought conjured up the memory of their first meeting and, sighing in despair, he rested his forehead upon her arm and let the memories flow.

 

~

 

_People arrived at Skyhold in droves, towing carts filled with supplies, or holding what little possessions they could grab, at such short notice, in their arms. They were crying - tears of joy or tears of relief - he didn’t quite know. He could sympathise, though, they had lost many in the massacre that was Haven. He was already admonishing himself for not being able to save more; it played on his mind constantly. He had already sworn to the Inquisitor that they would not be caught out like that ever again. He’d work himself into the ground if that’s what it took._

_It was mid afternoon and his presence was required in the upper courtyard to supervise the inventorying of supplies saved from the raging fires. They were busy sorting through the mess, setting edibles to one side and other items, too far damaged, into another large, disheartening pile, when he caught movement out of the corner of his eye. He tried to act normal as he shifted into another position so he could secretly scope out the area. His eyes hadn’t betrayed him. There was definitely movement high up on the Inquisitor’s balcony. They were her private quarters, so only she had access to that area and right now, she was busy assisting the others with rubble removal._

_At that moment he noticed Leliana ascending the stairs from the lower courtyard, with her bow drawn. She must have been exercising her frustration out on some poor pigeons - of the clay variety. He caught her eye and she glided her way over to him. It was eerie the way she moved - at least he always thought so._

_As she approached, she went to sheath her weapon and Cullen suddenly grabbed for her arm. She tried to withdraw in shock, but Cullen held on with a strong grip and looked at her with a wide-eyed stare._

_“What’s up with y-?”_

_“Is that a new bow?” He asked quickly, sending furtive glances in the direction of the Inquisitor’s tower._

_Leliana looked at him like he’d gone crazy, but followed his gaze. He felt her stiffen in his grip as she caught sight of what he had seen. Looking back at him, she grinned widely and patted his hand gently, letting him know that she knew._

_“Yes,” she said, pointing to a nondescript part of the bow, “look at the detail here - have you ever seen anything like it?”_

_Cullen “ummed” and “ahhed” in all the right places and pretended to look interested as Leliana continued chattering about the bow and how well it fired. That was a veiled warning, he realised, and stepped back slightly to allow her room, as she reached behind her back for an arrow. She notched the shaft to her bow and pulled the string taut, demonstrating its flexibility._

_She smiled at him cockily and said, “Give me a target!”_

_He smiled back knowingly and twitched his eyebrows at her. The smile fell instantly from her lips and a deathly expression settled upon her face. She moved with lightning speed, spinning on the spot and directing her bow towards the Inquisitor’s tower and let her arrow fly._

_The arrow flew straight and true and buried itself deep into the door frame millimetres from the face staring back in shock. Leliana smiled back triumphantly._

_“Show yourself immediately!” Cullen yelled, “What is your business here?”_

_A female figure emerged from inside the Inquisitor’s quarters, dressed in black leathers, with blonde hair flowing over her shoulders. She was far too high for them to glean any other information on her identity._

_She held her hands up in surrender and yelled down in response, “I mean you no harm! May we speak together civilly, Commander Cullen?”_

_He was unnerved that this mystery woman somehow knew his name, but he was not about to show it. During their exchange, Leliana had mustered a group of her archers and now had their arrows trained at the new arrival. Feeling confident that they were well protected, he would allow her to come down - Maker knew how._

_“Alright! He said, “Stay there! I will come to escort you myself!”_

_Waving a hand dismissively, the woman yelled down, as she climbed up onto the balcony wall, “That won’t be necessary, sir, I can make my own way down!”_

_Cullen stepped forward in stupefied surprise, with his hand held out to stop her. Before he was able to yell in shock, the crazy lady was tipping forwards, falling and… flying? How the hell was that even possible?? As he stood there with his hand held aloft and his mouth hanging agape, the winged woman alighted safely onto the ground in front of them._

Maker, she’s beautiful _, he thought disjointedly, as her green eyes met his. He blushed stupidly, as she smiled at him and shook his still extended hand._

_“Hi, I’m” -_

 

_\- “Senta,” Leliana said.  
_

_They were standing in his office; Cullen behind his desk, with Leliana and Senta standing just inside the doorway. Senta was smirking at him in that self-assured manner and he didn’t like it._

_“I’m aware of her name,” Cullen said coldly, squinting his eyes suspiciously, “what is this about?”_

_Leliana grunted agitatedly at being cut off and continued with a huff, “It’s been several weeks since Senta’s arrival and we haven’t yet been able to place her. She’s able to fight more like a warrior than a rogue, yet with the gift of flight, she can scout far more efficiently than any of my agents-”_

_Cullen knew where this was going and tried to argue defiantly._

_Leliana ploughed on anyway, raising her voice over Cullen’s, “That is why the Inquisitor and I have decided to hand her over to you!”_

_Turning to Senta and winking craftily, she said, “Good luck - he’s a teddy bear really!”_

_Senta covered a grin with her hand quickly, that was threatening to split her face in two, and stood quietly as Leliana left the room, slamming the door behind her._

_When all was quiet and Senta had managed to curb her humour, she turned to Cullen with a coy smile and said, “Well,_ sir _\- what is your first” -_

 

_\- “Order of the day!” Sera yelled raucously, as she ran headlong into the training grounds, laughing maniacally._

_Senta was drilling with her favourite weapons - two vicious hand claws - under order of Commander Cullen, when Sera came barrelling towards her. Two cream pies were held precariously in her hands._

_Senta saw her raise one of the pies in slow motion and, knowing what was about to happen, she dove for the floor in record time. Unfortunately, Commander Cullen was standing behind her, studying her battle technique, when the pie sailed straight over her head and into his unsuspecting face._

_Sera stood stock still in surprise and then pointed at Cullen and laughed hysterically. Stopping suddenly, as the sound of angry voices drifted through the air, she bent double in an effort to hide herself._

_A small crowd had gathered to gawk at Cullen as he stood on the spot, rigid, with cream oozing down his cheeks. Sera couldn’t help herself and snorted out more laughter as she looked at the hilarious sight in front of her._

_As the voices drew nearer, she slunk slowly away and then ran pell-mell for the tavern once she was clear of the crowd; throwing the second pie behind her, laughing uproariously all the way._

_After a moment the angry voices manifested into Skyhold’s cooks, as they turned the corner and came into view. When they caught sight of Cullen, frozen in place and dripping with that evening’s dessert, they stopped short with a shocked gasp. He lifted an accusing finger towards the tavern, without uttering a word, and the cooks promptly disappeared in pursuit._

_Turning to Cullen, with guilt radiating off her in waves, she approached him and placed a sympathetic hand carefully upon his shoulder._

_“Commander, sir - I’m so s-”_

_Shaking off her hand, he wiped the gloop from his eyes; his voice deathly quiet as he said, “You are dismissed. I need some time” -_

 

_\- Alone. At long last. He’d only just managed to get the cream out his nose and ears._

Maker, how did it even get into such places? _Cullen thought tiredly._

_He stood, leaning on the battlement wall, just outside of his office. A handkerchief, soiled with the remnants of a cream pie, was held loosely in his hand, hanging out into the breathtaking drop ahead of him._

_He was pulled away from admiring the view when he heard footsteps behind him. Looking over his shoulder, he saw Senta approaching; wringing her hands and smiling sheepishly. He turned back to the mountains ahead of him with a scowl, as she drew up next to him. They stood for a few beats in awkward silence._

_Eventually, he couldn’t bear the silence any longer and asked curtly, “Yes?”_

_Senta looked at him sadly, but he could never mistake the look of laughter in her eyes - it was always there, mocking, but somehow alluring._

_“I just wanted to apologise for earlier,” she said in a chagrined voice, “it’s all my fault - I baited Sera this morning and never dreamed she’d react with something like that!”_

_Cullen sighed heavily and fixed her with a sceptical gaze. She stared back with big halla eyes and he couldn’t help a snort of laughter escaping. It surprised him a great deal and he laughed again at his own surprise. Somehow, they both ended up doubled over in gales of laughter._

_As the laughter abated, he wiped tears from his eyes and immediately stiffened when he felt something tracing along his throat. His eyes flew open and he saw Senta’s hand extended; disappearing under his chin. His Adam's apple bobbed up and down nervously at the unexpected spark that prickled his skin under her touch. A blush had crept into her cheeks and she was biting her lip distractedly. Did she feel it too? His voice caught in his throat as he tried to speak._

_Taking her finger away, she lifted it up to his face; close enough that he became boss eyed trying to focus upon the white substance perched upon the tip._

_“You missed a bit,” she said huskily and popped it into her mouth._

_She turned from him, then, and took off into the -_

 

_\- Blue. Everywhere he looked was navy blue - and stars - there were lots of stars._

_Senta stood beside him, with her neck craned backwards, trying to take it all in. A wide grin split her face, full of wonder._

_They were standing on a secluded balcony at the Winter Palace. Empress Celene had been saved and an utter catastrophe had been averted. Music wafted softly over to them from across the yard, where the festivities were just taking off. Cullen was happy - elated even._

_He’d come to the balcony to escape the groping hands and undressing eyes of the guests, that had been following him all evening, and to perhaps get some peace and quiet. However, when he arrived, he’d found Senta much as she was then - taking in the midnight air and listening to the notes of a waltz dancing upon the breeze._

_Her suit had been specially tailored for her, to accommodate her wings, and her back was bare apart from the belts and buckles that held it all in place. He swallowed thickly at the way the light played upon her skin, sending the line of her toned back into sharp relief. He was about to turn away when her voice cut the air._

_“Cullen - I’m glad you’re here. I’d be pleased to share your company for a while - if you’d like.”_

_He shifted uncertainly, but her shining eyes implored him to stay. He nodded silently and walked to her side on wobbly legs. What the hell was wrong with him?_

_She took a deep breath, rejoicing at the clean, fresh air as it passed into her lungs._

_Exhaling in a rush, she said, “It’s so good to be free of that hall. All of those bodies - so hot… and stuffy.”_

_Turning to Cullen, she smiled nervously and rubbed anxiously at the base of her neck - much like he did, he realised. He smiled back easily, finding his voice._

_“You’re telling me! I was lucky to get away! It seems I’ve attracted quite the following...”_

_She laughed easily, visibly relaxing and turned away from him to continue staring out into the night. He thought that she might be cold, bare like that - so he went to rub her arms, hesitating for a moment with his hands hovering just above her coat. Swallowing a lump in his throat, he took the plunge and made contact. Even through the material of her jacket, he could feel the familiar jolt as electricity shot between them. She let out a shaky sigh, as he rubbed his hands up and down her arms._

_A queer feeling spread through his stomach, as he traced his hands up to her neck and let them rest there. Looking over her shoulder at him, she slowly turned until she was facing him. He was a couple of feet taller than her, so she looked up into his eyes, searching. His mouth had gone unusually dry and his throat clicked as he swallowed._

_She dropped her eyes shyly and said, “Cullen… I’ve been meaning to talk to you… I just didn’t know how, so I’m just going to jump right in-”_

_Without thinking and acting on some primal impulse, he dipped his head to hers suddenly and kissed her. Her muscles bunched underneath his hands for a moment and then loosened up again, as the kiss deepened. Breaking the kiss, he rested his forehead against hers with his eyes closed, breathing deeply. If he looked at her now, he’d come undone._

_He felt her hands on either side of his face, holding him gently. He opened his eyes slowly. As she came into focus he saw that her eyes were hooded pools of black desire. Letting out a desperate huff, he claimed her mouth again with growing ferocity. The feeling in his stomach pooled and spread to his groin where it burned like fire._

_Pushing her roughly against the building, he roamed her mouth with his tongue, sliding and writhing together in their own waltz. His hands traced greedily across her body and down the delicious line of her breasts. He grabbed hold of her thighs, as she squirmed in need underneath him. Unlacing her trousers, he pushed them down to her ankles and she stepped out of one of the legs, spreading her knees invitingly. They halted for a moment, catching their breath and resting against one another._

_“Please,” she whined, grinding her hips against his arousal._

_He fluttered kisses down her neck and shoulder, relishing the taste of her skin. He couldn’t believe this was happening. What was going on? He couldn’t think - he just needed to be inside her._

_Taking his first and middle fingers, he walked them slowly up her neck and chin, revelling in the moment as Senta’s heartbeat picked up even further. Tracing the line of her lips, he slipped them into her waiting mouth. He moaned slightly and nestled his face into her neck, as she licked and sucked his fingers. Taking them out again with a slight pop, he lowered his hand to her thighs and forced her legs further apart with a knee._

_He slid one finger in first and then the other, almost overwhelmed by her warmth and wetness. His erection pressed painfully against his trousers, straining to be free. He slowly and deliberately began to work his fingers in and out, quickly finding a rhythm that had Senta panting and gripping desperately onto him as she moaned quietly. He covered her mouth with his other hand and she bit down onto his finger to keep herself from screaming. He gasped in pain and his arousal pulsed in pleasure._

_“Maker…” He moaned, as he retrieved his hand and began unlacing his own breeches._

_Senta took his face in her hands and kissed him fiercely, biting his lower lip, baiting him into biting her back as he freed his erection. Grabbing her thighs and lifting her up, he pressed her into the wall._

_Looking into her hooded eyes, he gripped her neck as he supported her buttocks, the tip of his arousal teasing the lips of her opening. He looked at her then, really looked at her and saw her green eyes staring back, her lips parted slightly, hissing air as she breathed raggedly. Her hair was mussed up and her clothes were crumpled and out of place. The curve of a breast peaked out from underneath her jacket. Maker, she was beautiful - animalistic and primal; unlike anything he’d ever known. She bared her teeth at him then, growling low in her throat, goading him on._

_He growled back earnestly and, watching her carefully, he thrust forcefully into her heat. She threw her head back with a loud -_

 

\- Groan. Cullen found he groaned a lot lately. Lifting his head wearily, he saw that Senta’s arm was damp. Tears had leaked from his eyes as he had sat reliving those memories. He didn’t feel the tears anymore - they were as much a part of him as those times were.

He looked blearily over his shoulder as the rustle of clothing caught his attention.

“We need to talk,” the Inquisitor said.


	22. Adrift

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry for the delay in updating - home issues have been distracting me.
> 
> I'm afraid it's only the one chapter at the moment... but more will soon be on it's way :) xx

 

_Where am I? Why is it so dark? What the hell happened?_

Confusion ran riot in my brain and my thoughts were tinged with red. It was a struggle to think, like my mind wasn’t my own. After what felt like several hours - days - minutes, I came to realise that I was lying down. I opened my eyes - I thought they were already open? - and turned my head stiffly to the side.

I was lying in the snow. _In_ it, not on it. It had covered my arms and legs and had buried my head up to my ears.

_How long have I been here?_ I thought disorientated, _Why hasn’t anybody come to find me?_

Something wet was trickling down my face and I pulled my hand free of the snow to reach for it. Touching the wetness lightly with my fingers and bringing them in front of my eyes, I saw water - blood - dribbling down them. Shocked by what I thought I saw, I looked again and squinted my eyes groggily at my fingers. This time, I saw only melting snow.

Bewildered and more than a little disturbed, I wrestled desperately with the snow in an effort to stand. It seemed to cling to me the more I struggled; sucking me downwards. As the thought crossed my mind, as quick as lightning, the snow morphed into grasping hands, reaching for me as I scuffled. They grabbed at me and tore at my clothes, leaving wet trails along my arms and legs. I managed to fight my way to a kneeling position and as soon as I was able to find my feet, I broke free with a disgusted cry and the clutching monstrosities exploded into a cloud of powder.

I stood breathing heavily from the exertion, staring wildly at the snow; expecting it to come alive again and renew its assault on me. I kicked at it and stamped on it angrily, sending clumps flying in all directions. In the end though, it was only snow and I managed to stop myself with an almighty effort. It felt all too easy to give in to obsession and beat on the snow for the rest of eternity.

Rubbing my face roughly, I looked down at myself and realised that I was covered in it. Absolutely drenched in it.

_Shouldn’t the snow feel cold?_ I thought in surprise.

I myself do not feel the cold - at least if I don’t want to, but the snow itself should be felt all the same. I patted myself down, trying to feel what I knew should be there. Nothing - only the feeling of wetness.

I cast around, looking everywhere around me, really taking in where I was. The sky was dark and swirling with a sinister green energy. Skyhold loomed out of the darkness, yet the bridge leading to it seemed to stretch for miles. Every form seemed indefinite and wavered if focused upon for too long.

_I’m in a dream…_ I thought, catching sight of an unusual glow emanating from Skyhold’s grounds.

With sudden comprehension, I thought, _Fire? Valtok is alive - Skyhold is burning!_

Turning bodily towards Skyhold, bending my knees and stretching out my wings - wait - what? I stopped suddenly and concentrated on what I was feeling. I could feel my muscles twitching, telling my wings to move, but nothing was happening. Why wasn’t I flying?

Turning around on the spot, I tried to see what wasn’t there. My wings were gone! In their place sprouted two stubs of red lyrium, which stuck out grotesquely, with smaller spikes littering my back in between. In disbelief, I tried to reach behind me in a panic and ended up gouging deep, bloody channels into my skin in the process.

Hugging myself in devastation, I slipped to my knees and let out a distraught wail into the ever changing sky. Corypheus’ mangled face filled my mind and his maniacal laughter filled the sky, drowning out my sobbing cries.

This was no dream. This - this was a _nightmare_.

 

~

 

Cullen followed the Inquisitor reluctantly, as she gestured for them to go outside. Standing with one hand resting gently upon the partition, he looked back over his shoulder at Senta. She looked peaceful, lying there, but he was loathe to leave her side for very long. He turned back to the main infirmary and saw that the Inquisitor had already made her way outside. He slowly picked his way over to the exit, his posture slumped and dejected, and went out.

Closing the door softly behind him, he rubbed the bridge of his nose tiredly and turned to the Inquisitor, “You wanted to talk?”

She crossed her arms and regarded him steadily. He always felt cut off from her when she did that, as if she were using her arms to keep the world away. They shouldn’t be cutting each other off right now, they needed to unite to bring Senta back and give their all to bring Corypheus down as one. He was never very good at explaining his feelings, so he crossed his own arms and scowled back instead.

The Inquisitor shifted slightly and her arms tightened around her breasts in obvious tension. Her eyes bored into him, as icy as the mountaintops behind her and she pressed her lips together in a thin, tight line. Cullen kept his silence and waited for the Inquisitor to answer his question.

In an effort to quell the awkwardness, she said, “You have dark circles under your eyes, Cullen. Have you not slept at all?”

His eyebrows knitted together as his scowl deepened, “Of course not - how can I sleep when Senta is lying in there fighting for her life because of me?”

The Inquisitor looked appalled for a moment and dropped her eyes to study the grass at her feet. She sighed in frustration and met his eyes once again.

“Why do you hold yourself accountable, Cullen? You are not to blame.”

Cullen’s mouth hung agape for a moment and then, as what she had said hit him, he threw his hands in the air and exclaimed sarcastically, “Oh I don’t know! Perhaps because Senta came to me with her secret in complete confidence and I immediately blabbed to the biggest, baddest official!”

The Inquisitor left off hugging her elbows and planted her fists indignantly into her hips.

Pointing an angry finger at Cullen, she said, “That was no ordinary secret and you know it! You did the right thing by coming to me. It was your duty!”

Cullen threw an arm out wide, gesturing to the devastation around them, as he said, “And look where duty got us, Inquisitor!”

He pointed angrily at the wall where Senta lay behind it and continued in a desperate voice. “Senta is dying, Inquisitor - If I hadn’t of acted so rashly-”

The Inquisitor lifted a hand assertively and cut him off from his self-destructive tirade. She walked up to him and pulled him into a tight embrace. He was shocked beyond words and a little uncomfortable with the close proximity, but he tried to relax anyway. The Inquisitor released him after a moment and held onto his shoulders, looking him straight in the eye.

“You placed your trust in me as much as Senta placed her trust in you. I betrayed you both and for that I am deeply sorry.”

Cullen tried to protest and she shook him lightly to shut him up. When he’d clamped his mouth shut again, she released his shoulders and continued.

“I was foolish and driven by greed. Power hungry… I see that now. I first realised it when I thought about what Senta had sacrificed for us, when she joined the Inquisition - leaving her home and her kin behind - and I see it when I see you by her side.”

She looked down at her feet and then met his eyes with a pleading look.

“Cullen, I can’t say how sorry I am.”

He had never known the Inquisitor to apologise before and he didn’t know what to do with it. He paced backwards and forwards like a caged animal, rubbing the base of his neck absently. It reminded him of that night at the Winter Palace and he stopped himself abruptly. Looking at his hand and dropping it by his side, he looked back at the Inquisitor.

“Alright,” He said uncomfortably, “what now?”

The Inquisitor looked apologetically at Cullen and said, “We need to march.”

He shook his head in denial, backing towards the infirmary door.

“I can’t leave her like this, Inquisitor. Every minute she slips further away from me - I won’t do it.”

“Corypheus’ demon army won’t wait,” she said adamantly.

“Then we find another way!” He shouted desperately.

The Inquisitor held her hands up in acquiescence and tried to defuse the situation.

“Alright,” she said, “we’ll find another way. I’m going to call for a meeting right now - everyone will be there. I’ll never make another decision without their input again.”

Cullen nodded his head and backed closer to the infirmary door.

“Make sure you’re in the War Room in five minutes.”

Cullen nodded again and before disappearing into the room, he said earnestly, “Thank you, Inquisitor.”

The Inquisitor stared at the door for a few more minutes, after Cullen had disappeared behind it and knew instinctively that this was the right thing to do. She turned and ran for the bell tower to tell the guards to ring the emergency meeting bell. All within the Inner Circle would hear that bell and would know to make their way immediately to the War Room.

 

~

 

Cullen sat once more on his stool by Senta’s side. His sword was propped against the partition wall and he sat staring at it, while holding onto her hand. Cullen’s attention was called away from his sword when Senta moaned in her unconsciousness. He stroked her head gently until she quieted. He looked at his sword again, as the emergency bell began tolling, and then looked back at Senta.

“We’ll find a way to bring you home - I swear it. I love you, Senta.”

Planting a tender kiss above her eyebrow, he squeezed her hand gently before letting go. Grabbing his sword, he ran for the exit and made his way towards the War Room.


	23. Regroup

 

Silence reigned in the War Room and the Inquisitor savoured it while she could. She was the first to arrive after ringing the bell and she knew that once the others began dribbling in, peace and quiet would be a thing of the past.

She looked to the war table where the strategy that she and her advisors had agreed upon lay untouched. She stared at the map-markers momentarily, as they stood motionless, mocking her. They’d been so close. They were literally about to march the Inquisition’s forces out of the valley and make their way west, when all hell had broken loose. Now one of her own Inner Circle lay holed up in the infirmary, while the rest of her forces wallowed in self pity. The Inquisitor raised an arm angrily, intending to swipe away the markers, when the door opened. It was The Iron Bull.

He pushed into the room, while chewing on a chicken leg, and stopped short when he saw the Inquisitor with her arm held aloft. Casting his eyes down warily to the object of her annoyance, he looked back at her with a quizzical look.

“Are they pissing you off, boss? I can come back later if you need some time.”

The Inquisitor sighed heavily and let her arm drop limply to her side.

“No!” She said irately.

Calming herself, she looked at him with a tired smile, “No, Bull - I’d only have to pick it all up again later.”

Sucking what little chicken was left off the bone, Bull looked around for somewhere to put it. Not seeing anywhere suitable, he stuck it into his belt.

Staring at the bone wedged between his skin and the strip of leather, he said, “I need to get me some bad-ass dragon bone armour… do you think Senta would mind?”

Smiling fully for the first time in forever, she said “I really can’t say… you’ll have to ask her when she wakes up.”

Bull looked up from his musings in surprise, “Is that what this meeting is about? Are we finally going to get her back?”

The Inquisitor nodded, carefully gauging Bull’s reaction. He smiled broadly and scooped her up into his arms in a strong bear hug. The Inquisitor coughed and spluttered as his arms pulled tighter and tighter around her, constricting her blood flow. Eventually, when she thought her head might burst, he let her go.

“I knew you’d come around!” He exclaimed happily, slamming a palm into her shoulder.

“Shit! Bull!” She cried, “Save it for the bedroom!”

Bull laughed out loud at that and then remembered what she’d said to him before. Catching her off guard, he pushed her against the wall and, grabbing her wrists, he forced her arms above her head with one hand. Pushing his hips forcefully into her pubic bone, he held his face millimeters from hers. With his free hand at the base of her throat, he held her effortlessly in place. He growled wantonly into her lips as her breathing ratcheted up a few levels underneath him.

“You promised me a good time when that big-ass dragon was kicking the shit out of everyone.”

The Inquisitor laughed nervously, as her knees threatened to buckle underneath her.

All of a sudden, Cullen burst into the room and The Iron Bull quickly pulled away and immediately pretended to study one of the map-markers. The Inquisitor was left high and dry and more than a little frazzled. She straightened herself briskly and smiled self-consciously at Cullen; who returned her gaze with a knowing smirk. He kept his silence, though, for which she was grateful. He walked quietly over to one of the many windows and proceeded to look pensively at the view outside.

The Iron Bull and the Inquisitor shared a private look with one another, as he passed her on his way to pat Cullen amiably on the back. Cullen smiled sadly up at him and let out a shaky sigh.

Bull knew there was nothing he could say to offer comfort, so he gave Cullen’s shoulder a momentary squeeze, as the door opened again to admit Dorian and Vivienne.

Acknowledging all that were in the room, Dorian ambled over to the far side of the war table, holding a goblet of wine in his hand, and propped himself against a corner. He took a dainty sip every now and then, savouring the taste of the Tevinter vintage that Varric had brought in for him that morning.

The Iron Bull watched Dorian surreptitiously and quietly left Cullen’s side to antagonise him; waggling his eyebrows cheekily at the Inquisitor as he passed. The Inquisitor shot him a severe look, warning him not to get too carried away. Vivienne floated over to her then and fussed incessantly over her supposed lack of style. The Inquisitor rolled her eyes sardonically and allowed her babbling to wash over her.

She sighed inwardly as the volume increased, just as she’d predicted. Still, in spite of her growing headache, she smiled to herself - this was exactly where they belonged. They were like family. Her smile faltered for a moment and was replaced with astonishment when Cassandra arrived next, with her face like thunder. A wave of laughter washed in as she turned and slammed the door behind her. She looked flustered and was flushing furiously as she struggled to keep the door closed. Sera’s raucous laughter could be heard, absolutely beside herself with glee.

Her muffled voice floated in from behind the door, before breaking out into fresh gales, “You - you!”

“Shut it!” Cassandra spat at the door, turning an ever deeper shade of red.

Caught up in the contagious laughter, a new voice joined in the fray. Snorting and coughing, he managed, “I was as surprised as you are, Buttercup! Who’d have thought it!”

Knocking on the door, he called, “Seeker! Let us in! You’re keeping us from a very important meeting!”

Cassandra stiffened, suddenly remembering where she was. Turning around slowly, keeping her back against the door, she looked around at the varying degrees of surprise on the others’ faces. She blushed to a dangerous shade and then, as if a physical wall were being built behind her eyes, her face turned stony.

Blackwall’s baritone voice came from behind the door then, “What’s going on? Why can’t we go in?”

More unintelligible conversation ensued and then booming laughter followed. Cassandra’s face turned murderous and the Inquisitor was forced to intervene. Pushing her gently away from the door, while she objected emphatically, the Inquisitor opened the door.

Blackwall, being the last to arrive, was the first person in the Inquisitor’s line of fire. Wiping a tear from his eye, he looked up as he heard the door opening. When he saw the Inquisitor’s callous expression, the laughter died in his throat. Groaning in embarrassment, he marched past her, nodding a sheepish apology to Cassandra as he went. Varric was still smiling audaciously and held his hands up in mock surrender as the Inquisitor planted her fists on her hips. He chuckled to himself as he eased past her and Cassandra shoved him forcefully when he came within range.

“What??” He exclaimed, as he righted himself, “It’s not my fault you like my worst books!”

Cassandra crossed her arms angrily and turned away from him with her nose in the air. Blackwall watched with a confused expression, as a royal passed by his face, twinkling in the dim light ; landing in Dorian’s outstretched hand. Dorian winked knowingly at Blackwall and lifted the royal to Varric in thanks. Rolling his eyes and muttering darkly about another lost bet, Varric replaced his coin purse within the folds of his clothes.

Meanwhile, the Inquisitor had turned her attention to Sera, who had laughed herself into a boneless heap on the floor. She was resting against the door frame, with tears running down her cheeks.

The Inquisitor looked to the heavens and mumbled to herself as she knelt down beside Sera, “Maker give me strength… Sera? Are you finished?”

Sera looked at her with watery eyes, as a goofy smile plastered its way across her face, and said breathlessly, “Cassandra reads smutty books! Miss Prissy Pants and smut? Who’d have thunk it!”

“That’s enough,” the Inquisitor said as she helped Sera to her feet, “we have to find away to bring Senta back together.”

With that, Sera sobered instantly and nodded determinedly.

Swiping at her eyes, she said, “She’s my mate, yeah? Throwing pies ain’t as fun without her.”

The Inquisitor smiled kindly and vacated the doorway so Sera could proceed into the war room. Sera sniggered to herself as she caught sight of Cassandra standing on the other side of the room, next to Madame Vivienne, and took her place next to Blackwall. They looked at one another and immediately looked in opposite directions, trying hard to hide their smirks. Cassandra looked on, with her emotional wall standing tall, and ignored their existence completely.

The Inquisitor entered the room then and all fell silent.

“Well… are we all here now?”

She gazed around at the faces looking back at her and was about to ask where Cole was, when a pop sounded behind her.

“I’m sorry,” Cole said as he walked around to meet her, “I heard the bell ringing, but the bellman’s hurt was louder.”

The Inquisitor nodded carefully and Cole went to stand by himself in a dark corner. The Inquisitor swallowed thickly; he always made her feel somewhat uncomfortable. Transparent even. Shaking her head to dislodge the disquieting thoughts, she scanned the room again. Both Josephine and Leliana were out on sensitive business, so they could not attend.

Eventually, she asked, “Where’s Solas?”


	24. Trouble Ahead

 

I must have blacked out from shock, as I don’t remember entering Skyhold. One minute, I was kneeling in the snow wailing in agony at the loss of my wings and the next, I found myself standing atop the staircase leading to the throne room. I looked around at my surroundings in confusion, struggling to take in the devastation that my eyes were reporting to my clouded brain.

Faceless bodies lay strewn across the lower courtyard and draped across the stairs, outlining the path that lead to my current position. Fires burned unchecked, sending sparks spiralling madly into the swirling sky. Skyhold was in ruin and I felt nothing. I searched the part of me where compassion would normally live and found it empty. It was as if that part of my soul had been stripped bare. I stared out at the ravaged landscape blankly and turned slowly back to the double doors when disjointed voices whispered to me, compelling me to enter.

As I passed through the doors, I closed my eyes and when I opened them again, I was no longer in Skyhold. Instead, the Inquisitor’s throne stood in the centre of a large clearing and the sound of twittering wildlife filled the night air. I was home! But something didn’t feel right. The forest spreading out all around me was not what I remembered. It was deeper - darker - almost impenetrable and the tree limbs reached for me sinisterly.

It didn’t seem to bother me in the slightest that the Inquisitor’s throne sat forlornly in the middle, overgrown with weeds and poisonous blooms. In fact, I didn’t really see it until the figure lounging within shifted position, raising its face to meet mine. I thought I saw its eyes glow red for a moment, but then the whispering in my mind calmed my clamouring thoughts and assured me that it was just a trick of the light. But what light? It seemed too gloomy here - like the canopy of leaves were suffocating the very air itself.

My mind was swimming and it was hard to coordinate my ideas before they slipped from my grasp. Before I could deliberate further, the figure opened its mouth to speak to me, but as its mouth moved, instead of hearing its voice with my ears, I heard it speaking in my mind.

“Welcome home…” It said reticently.

Walking forwards slowly and trying to break through the fog in my mind, I squinted at the figure sitting on the throne. As the fog cleared reluctantly, I hissed in a surprised breath as a form I recognised emerged from the gloom.

“Cullen..?”

 

~

Everyone looked at each other, shaking their heads; none had seen Solas, it seemed. He was as elusive as ever. The Inquisitor lifted her hands to rub at her temples and stopped herself suddenly. This was not the time to get irate. Balling her hands into fists, she forced them down to her sides and looked to all of the inquisitive faces staring back. An idea sprung into her mind then and she turned to the dark corner where Cole was picking at something on the floor.

“Cole?” She asked tentatively.

He looked up at her innocently, with eyes that seemed to bore straight through to her soul. She tried her best to hide the shiver that was currently crawling down her spine.

As if he had read her mind, Cole looked down at the floor abashedly and continued to poke at and fiddle with the flagstones.

“I’m sorry,” He whispered, “I don’t mean to make you feel uncomfortable. I just want to help…”

The Inquisitor mentally admonished herself and knew that she had to try and remember why Cole was here. He gave her the heebie jeebies a little bit, yes, but she didn’t dislike him. He genuinely seemed to want to do good. Drumming her fingers against her lip, she approached Cole slowly. Kneeling down, she placed a caring hand upon his shoulder until he reluctantly met her eyes again. The others stood by, watching raptly and, thankfully, silently.

“Cole, I am the one that’s sorry - I should not make you feel bad for what you are.”

He looked away from her in thought and then nodded to himself.

Looking back at her, he said, more as a statement than a question, “You would like my help.”

The Inquisitor nodded encouragingly, “Yes - you have always seemed to have a close relationship with Solas.”

Cole nodded enthusiastically, turning towards her in his excitement, and said, “Yes! Yes, he understands me. What can I do?”

“I was wondering if you could find him for me and bring him here? We cannot proceed without him.”

Cole stood quickly, turning on the spot, seemingly searching for something. Turning in the direction of the rectory, he disappeared suddenly with a pop. Before the Inquisitor could process that he was gone, Cullen had pushed through the crowd with a stern expression.

“We’re wasting time!” He said, “We’re supposed to be coming up with a plan to bring Senta back!”

The Inquisitor was opening her mouth to speak when Vivienne interrupted incredulously, “That’s why we’re all here? To help save that _beast_?”

Cullen bristled at that, but before he could argue, Vivienne had turned to the Inquisitor with a withering look, “Inquisitor, I fear you have lost your mind!”

Sera pushed herself forwards angrily and pointed an angry finger at Vivienne, “Hey! _Viv!_ Back off - yeah? Let her speak!”

Vivienne looked down her nose at Sera and snorted derisively, “How about you leave the serious talking to the big girls? I’m sure there must be some _pies_ for you to throw.”

Sera was about to get into Vivienne’s face when Blackwall held her back. The room erupted into angry shouts as Sera punched him in the face and sent him sprawling backwards into a politely curious Dorian. Needless to say, chaos ensued.

 

~

 

Cullen’s face was grave as he considered me over his tented fingers, while leaning back leisurely on the throne with his right ankle resting lightly across his left knee. I couldn’t remember him ever sitting that way - so relaxed - in fact he usually chose to stand, being so highly strung.

His attire was not his usual heavy armour and fur combination, but the crimson velvet jacket, with the blue silk sash, and dark brown breeches that we’d all been required to wear at the Winter Palace. His hair was mussed up, just as it had looked after I had been running my fingers through it, during our moment of passion on the balcony. A white hot poker of pain shot through my heart at the memory. So, sympathy was all but lost to me now, but I could feel agony and despair just fine. Wonderful. I gritted my teeth against the unexpected wave of sadness that took hold.

Cullen stared at me all the while, watching me fight to keep the pain from my face.

As if reading my thoughts, he leaned forwards with an arrogant smirk and said, “Don’t resist it, let the pain consume you - let it make you stronger.”

His eyes were hungry, as if my pain fuelled him instead, somehow. A flare of anger rose up in me and I moved forwards several steps to confront him.

“You betrayed me!” I spat viciously, “Don’t you dare school me on emotion!”

He laughed uproariously at that and I was shocked speechless. I stood, flabbergasted, as his laughter echoed throughout the glade. He stopped all of a sudden and pushed himself fluidly from his seat. He stalked towards me with his eyes glittering in their sockets and his form wavered as a malicious grin spread across his face.

“You think I care about how you feel?” He asked scathingly, “I care nothing for you.”

He prowled around me in a circle, close enough for his shoulder to brush mine and I shuddered unpleasantly at his touch. This was not Cullen, I realised far too late, but as whatever it was moved around me, I became enthralled. As his gaze bore into mine, the red light that I had seen earlier flashed in his eyes.

“You are _weak!_ ” He spat.

I lowered my eyes to the ground, in a trance, and said vaguely, “Yes…”

The red light flashed again and was echoed in my own vacant gaze.

“You are not worthy!” He growled.

“I…” I shook my head slightly and the red glow left my eyes, as I lifted my head in confusion.

The Cullen-thing grabbed hold of my chin and wrenched my face towards his own and held it level to his gaze. There was no escape and… I did not want to escape. His eyes boiled and spat with a hypnotising crimson light. It called to me like the sickening song of red lyrium, which resonated with the voices chattering in the dark corners of my mind. It called them forwards until they were clamouring in my brain, obliterating all thought.

“You are not worthy...” he said in a gentler tone, as my eyes crackled and buzzed with his own, “You were one and now you are two.”

He released my chin and my head lulled forwards so I was gazing at the floor, which was now a dull shade of maroon. Red - everything was red - it was infuriating.

I growled viciously low in my throat, “Not worthy…!”

The Cullen-thing smiled wickedly and knew that the dragon girl was his. Corypheus would be most pleased. He snickered to himself madly. He was so very hungry, but he would feed soon, just a little bit - Corypheus wouldn’t mind just a little bit.

When his prey becomes lost and alone and the worry worms it’s way into their very being - that’s when their mind is at it’s most tender. The more naive the quarry, the better. This one was harder, much harder - she kept fighting his illusion, but she would concede soon.

He smacked his lips wistfully as he led me away. I could hear the sound echoing in my mind, but I could not discern what it was - nor did I care. I was not worthy.

“Come with me,” He said happily, “I have a task for you and I have a feeling you’re going to just _love_ it.”

In fact, she would hate it, but that’s what Deceit Demons do. They _deceive_.

 

~

 

Three pairs of eyes watched the deceit demon lead Senta away.

Solas turned to his secretive companions and whispered, “We have a problem…”


	25. Misconduct

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Merry Christmas All :) xx

 

Solas turned from his companions to watch Senta, as she disappeared through the tree line on the far side of the clearing. He quickly began to stand from his crouching position to pursue them; there was too much at stake, he could not lose sight of them now. He was about to break cover and sneak into the glade when something pulled at the corners of his mind, vying for his attention.

He paused for a moment on the very edge of the border, shrouded in ferns, but still very much visible to anyone who cared to look. Crouching low again, he backed away a few steps and concentrated his mind towards the disturbance; his brows pulling together in a frown. He could feel his body being shaken urgently back in the waking world and a voice he recognised pleaded unintelligibly to him.

Gazing back towards his friends, who had kept to the dark shadows blanketing the deeper forest, he motioned to them that he had to leave unexpectedly. They merely stared back blankly, with their heads cocked curiously to one side. He waved goodbye with a kind smile and closed his eyes as his form faded and dissipated. They lifted their own hands in farewell, mirroring one another, and then, turning to face each other, they cocked their heads once again.

 

~

 

The sensation of being shaken intensified as Solas came back to himself and the pleading grew in volume until the owner of the voice became apparent. Solas took a moment to re-orientate himself, feeling that his legs were crossed, feeling the resistance of the soft cushion underneath him and the comfortable, yet firm, support at his back. He was in the rotunda, sitting at his desk in his large armchair. Good, that was very good - it had been a while since he had meditated so deeply and had half expected to find himself splayed out on the floor. It wouldn’t have been the first time.

Opening his eyes slowly, he turned his head stiffly to look at Cole. Realising that his eyes were wide and panicked, he immediately sat up straight, giving Cole his full attention. Laying his hands gently upon Cole’s, that were still tightly gripping his shoulders, he squeezed them gently to calm his friend.

“Cole - whatever is the matter?” He asked benevolently, his voice croaky from lack of use.

Releasing his shoulders, Cole immediately turned his hands skywards and weaved his fingers through Solas’ for comfort.

“I couldn’t find you,” He said breathlessly, “you were here, but yet, you were there - I couldn’t follow you - I - I can’t go back - it’s not time.”

Solas freed one of his hands and rested it lovingly against Cole’s clammy cheek.

“Shhh…” He whispered soothingly and felt Cole relax immediately under his touch, “now - tell me what troubles you, ma falon.”

Cole perked up immediately and twisted around to indicate the way back to the war room.

“The Inquisitor sent me to find you. She has called for an urgent meeting, but I heard fighting as soon as I left… I was afraid to go back...”

Solas leaned forward intently at that and asked, with surprise evident in his voice, “Fighting? Are you sure?”

Cole nodded his head quietly and whispered, “Anger, red and raging - everywhere, but nowhere - tangible, but untouchable… I can hear it singing, but I cannot understand the words. It sounds... sad…”

Solas’ eyes widened in shock, “The red lyrium! Has it grown so much? We must move quickly!”

Standing up from his seated position, he grabbed his staff, which he had placed on the table in front of him before meditating, and gripped Cole’s shoulder firmly.

“Close your ears to its music, ma falon - its song is poison. If the Inner Circle are fighting amongst themselves, then we have less time than I thought. The madness will spread and Senta will be lost to us forever.”

Cole shifted uneasily from one foot to the other and fiddled with his fingers like a lost boy. He eyed Solas warily as he turned to leave.

“I like Senta…” He said carefully, “She has always been kind to me and I want to help, but…”

He hesitated for a moment, as Solas turned back to face him with his eyebrows raised impatiently. Solas was eager to witness the state of the Inner Circle for himself.

Cole took a tentative step forward, holding out an enquiring hand, and said, “You are helping her more than most and I was wondering… why?”

Solas’ expression softened and he looked down at the floor as he considered Cole’s question carefully.

Finally, he met Cole’s innocent gaze and said, “Senta and her people are part of something ancient and powerful. I would see it protected - kept from corruption and ruin. I would not expect you to understand.”

Cole nodded slowly, his boyish face contorted into a scowl of concentration.

“I think I understand… you are helping her - them - to make up for your own failing. It would have happened anyw-” He began, when Solas cut him short.

“ _That_ ,” he said, “Is best left alone - and I would be thankful if you do not mention it again.”

Cole nodded carefully, abashed. Solas smiled at him sadly and motioned for Cole to join him at his side.

“Come,” he said gently, “let us make haste.”

Together, they hurried out of the rotunda and made their way towards the war room, with the song of red lyrium hounding their steps.

 

~

 

The state of affairs in the war room had gone from bad to worse while Solas and Cole were speaking. Map-markers had been strewn across the room and the large map of Thedas was lying askew upon the table, torn in several places. Cullen and the Inquisitor stood on one side of the room staring out in stupefied astonishment at the carnage unfolding in front of them.

Sera had launched herself upon Lady Vivienne the second that Blackwall had released her; biting, clawing and pulling at her horned hat. Vivienne screeched in anger and, uncharacteristically forgetting about her magical talents, she spun wildly in place trying to rip her off.

Blackwall had fallen backwards into Dorian’s unsuspecting body and had sent his prized bottle of wine soaring, where it smashed against the unforgiving, stone wall. Dorian approached the shattered remains of his wine with devastation written plain across his face. Kneeling down with a sob, he cradled the shards of glass in his shaking hands. Looking up suddenly, his tear-stained face contorted into a mask of hatred as he clambered to his feet, whirling around to confront Blackwall.

Blackwall was busy nursing his ballooning nose, as Iron Bull heaved him to his feet. Blood streamed from his nostrils and over his fingers, as he staggered upright, when Dorian stormed up to them both, grabbing Blackwall by the shoulders and shaking him angrily.

“You blighted fool!” He screamed into his face; spittle flying from his lips.

Blackwall, in his dazed state, was being shaken backwards and forwards like a rag-doll, moaning incoherently. Shocked and a little disturbed by everyone’s behaviour, The Iron Bull tried to placate his friend. Although, as soon as he placed a gentle hand upon Dorian’s shoulder, Dorian spun towards him, and without a second’s hesitation, sent a fireball careering into his chest. The Iron Ball staggered backwards into the war table, collapsing painfully against it as the unyielding wood dug savagely into his lower back. Tendrils of smoke wafted up lazily from his singed skin as he lay there dazed. Slowly and tenderly, Bull lifted his hands to rest on the table on either side of him. Flinching, as his battered back rebelled against the movement, he raised himself meticulously until he was standing once more.

Iron Bull’s good eye was squeezed shut against the pain, however, the injustice of Dorian’s unprovoked attack added salt to his wound. Anger boiled up inside him, astounding in it’s intensity. Opening his eye slowly and deliberately, he fixed Dorian with a murderous glare and, punching down onto the war table with a blood-curdling roar, he stomped towards Dorian with the unstoppable force of a juggernaut. Dorian welcomed Iron Bull’s advancement eagerly, with fire licking at his forearms, as he held a fireball poised in each hand.

Cassandra had seen enough and refused to allow this insolence to continue. Unfortunately, as she approached, Varric had somehow found himself in The Iron Bull’s path in all of the confusion, and was thrown unceremoniously aside. Varric spun through the air and, in the confined space, Cassandra was unable to escape in time, taking the full impact as Varric ploughed into her. They landed in a heap against the wall, where Cassandra’s head connected sharply with the stone.

Reaching groggily for her head, she brought her hand unsteadily in front of her face and was surprised to see a smear of blood in bright contrast upon her skin. Focusing upon the blurry form stirring in her lap, her mouth twisted into a contemptuous sneer. As Varric came to fully, he was immediately assaulted as Cassandra pummelled him angrily with her fists. Varric kicked and punched in response and accidentally caught Cullen in the hip, pushing him into the Inquisitor.

She caught him quickly, before he fell, and realised with a start that his face was pressed into her chest, his features concealed between her breasts. He struggled frantically trying to straighten himself, clawing at her clothes, and accidentally grabbed her breast for purchase. The Inquisitor cawed angrily and pushed him away, incensed. As he righted himself and looked at her in bewilderment, she slapped him sharply across the face; the crisp sound reverberating clearly around the room. He cradled his burning cheek as he looked at her with amazement. He would never raise a hand to an unarmed woman, so he could only cover his face in defence as she launched herself at him, screaming like a banshee.

Solas opened the door to all of this chaos and stood in the doorway with his mouth agape. He watched for a moment with amusement spreading slowly across his face, until an arrow from Varric’s crossbow whirred past his ear; clattering against the wall behind him. Shaking his head slightly with a sigh, to clear the red fog threatening to envelope him, he quickly cast a moderate Winter’s Grasp spell throughout the room to freeze everyone in place.

He paced in between their frozen forms, observing them all in their undignified poses, with a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth.

Stopping beside the Inquisitor, he flicked his eyebrows at her in mock surprise as she strained to see him from the corner of her eye. She had been frozen mid-swing of a particularly well aimed right hook, hovering a few inches from Cullen’s jaw. Cullen, unable to speak, complained enthusiastically in an unintelligible mumble as he eyed the impending fist.

“Now,” Solas said conversationally, addressing everyone in the room, “if I let you free, will you promise to be on your best behaviour?”

There was a collective jumble of cries and exclamations as everyone hastily agreed. Solas smiled at that and noticed Cole loitering just outside the doorway with his hands over his ears, scowling in revulsion. He looked to Solas pleadingly, who nodded in accedence.

As he walked to the door, he turned and said, “We’ll continue in the rectory - this place has been tainted.”

Spinning on his heel, he held up his left hand and clicked his fingers as he passed through the war room door. The spell was released and everyone immediately slumped, groaning, to the floor as the numbness left their limbs.

Solas and Cole proceeded to the rectory together to await the others.


	26. Revelations

 

I was led through the trees, past sites that I knew very well. Cabins perched high in the treetops and caves led to a network of underground tunnels that housed the dragons’ living quarters and natural hot springs fashioned into bathhouses.

I looked at these sites vaguely as we walked by, trying to recall how they used to make me feel, seeing them in my mind’s eye in all their glory.

Flickering torches used to fill the sky like stars and winglies could be glimpsed winging between the boughs, visiting friends and conducting business. Dragons would be helping the forges with their fire breath, or helping to lift heavy building materials under the guidance of their counterparts. Everyone would be helping each other with their chores and other responsibilities, peacefully and happily, as per usual village life.

It used to make me feel warm inside; proud to be the leader of such a community. Now, as the structures lay deep in ruin and decay, sprouting prongs of red lyrium, the doorways yawning like screaming mouths; I could only feel dread and despair.

We passed through the village slowly, exiting through the main entrance which was flanked by two stone dragons, depicting power and honour. The magic wards, that had once disguised the statues as ancient Elvhen deities, had since worn off and the weather had destroyed most of their defining features. I looked up at them with tears leaking from my eyes, as the Cullen-thing urged me roughly onwards.

Pushing me into another clearing, I managed to catch myself before I fell. Looking up to see where I was, I gasped in horror at what I saw. Before I could react further, the Cullen-thing spoke.

“Take a good look, Deceiver,” He said in a voice much like the Inquisitor’s, “this is the reason you cannot feel anything but horror and despair.”

I looked at him in shock, as he continued.

“This beast was a part of you and it stole away the best of your emotions. It abandoned you at your weakest moment.”

Pausing to admire the hatred spreading across my face, he began to speak again, “Kill it and regain all that you have lost. Kill it, and steal for yourself, power greater than you can ever imagine -”

Gesturing to the clearing in front of me with a flourish, he finished, “Kill it and become master of all that is red!”

A ferocious snarl ripped from my throat as I swung towards the thing in question.

In the middle of the clearing, caged by bars of crackling and sputtering red lyrium, a wraith-like form of the brightest yellow energy paced aggravatedly; watching me warily.

The other part of me - my dragon soul.

 

~

 

The group dribbled into the rectory looking bedraggled and abashed. As Solas appraised them with a serious expression, he noticed that a couple of them had slipped away. As the Inquisitor approached him, ruffling her already flyaway hair in embarrassment, he gestured to the others with his chin.

“Where is the Enchanter and the Seeker?” He asked with a frown.

The Inquisitor sighed dramatically and ticked them off on her fingers, as she said, “Lady Vivienne outright refuses to be a part of a rescue mission for a beast she believes should be hunted to extinction… and Cassandra mumbled something about dragons being responsible for her brother’s death...”

She looked at Solas with her eyebrows raised, waiting for his response. He was standing there with his arms crossed, cupping his chin with one hand, while staring into nothingness; apparently deep in thought. After a moment, when the Inquisitor was about to open her mouth to call him back to the world of the living, he turned to her with a small nod.

“It matters not,” he said matter of factly, “We only need two.”

“What do you mean ‘two’?” The Inquisitor asked in confusion, as Solas left her side to address the others.

As the reduced party gathered around him to hear his plan, he raised a regal hand towards the Inquisitor to halt further questions. She acquiesced with an impatient wave of her own.

Nodding his head respectfully, he turned back to the others, opening his arms wide in welcome.

“My friends,” he said with a knowing smile, “I trust that the cold has fully left you?”

Irate stares and grumbling greeted his cheerful comment.

Masking his amusement with a sudden solemn expression, he said, “To business then!”

Closing his eyes and taking a big breath to steady himself, he began.

“I know where Senta is,” he said; his tone weighty.

The Iron Bull, his pride still stinging from being caught off guard earlier, snorted contemptuously and retorted with his voice thick with sarcasm, “Yeah and so do we!”

He gestured in the direction of the courtyard with a hefty arm and continued, “She’s in the infirmary where we left her – she’s not moved since!”

The others kept their silence, fully aware of the rivalry between the Qunari and Elvhen races. They didn’t want another fight on their hands, like the last shameful half hour. Solas’ face was a blank canvas, showing no reaction to Bull’s cynicism, but those who knew him well saw his eyes glint dangerously.

Trying to keep his tone civil, he replied, “Yes, she is here physically. _That_ we all know, as you have so kindly pointed out, but I am referring to her _consciousness_.”

Bull looked as if he was trying to think of another come back and couldn’t quite do it. Instead, he huffed angrily and crossed his arms, pouting like a child. The Inquisitor saw this was going nowhere and stepped in front of Bull; trying to break Solas’ line of sight and bringing his attention to her. It would have been amusing at some other time, considering Bull’s considerable hulk and the Inquisitor’s slender frame, but thankfully no one was in a laughing mood.

“Tempers are spreading thin, Solas,” She said diplomatically, “if you could please tell us what you know.”

Cullen strode forward then, from his quiet position at the back of the room, and joined the Inquisitor at her side. Bruises were beginning to bloom across his face from where the Inquisitor had struck him and, as he stood next to her, he refused to make eye contact. The Inquisitor looked away sheepishly and found an interesting spot on the floor to stare at. Cullen kept his silence and waited resolutely for Solas’ explanation.

Solas moved over to his desk pensively, which was covered in ancient books and artefacts, and lovingly caressed their crumbling leather bindings.

Just above a whisper, he said; almost wistfully, “She is in the Fade.”

Sharp gasps and shocked muttering met this statement and Solas waited patiently until it petered out into an uneasy silence. He studied their reactions closely, Cullen in particular. He watched as several emotions crossed his battered face in mere moments; shock, disgust, despair and, finally, an immovable determination. Solas was surprised by this last emotion; considering Cullen’s chequered past with magic and his subsequent distrust as a result. He wondered, with a small smile, just how Cullen would react to his next suggestion.

The Inquisitor was not so fazed. She stood with her arms crossed, eyeing Solas carefully; her eyebrow cocked in her usual cynical manner.

“Okay. Senta is in the Fade…” She acknowledged, “But - how do you know this?”

Solas dipped his head respectfully and took a moment to gather his thoughts. Sometimes the arrogance of humankind was astounding.

The Inquisitor was impatient for answers, but she knew that some Elves had the tendency to take their time. It had something to do with their ancestors living for hundreds of years at a time and having plenty of said time to waste.

It seemed that Solas had hit many of the ‘time wasting’ branches on the way down his family tree. She anxiously drummed her fingers against her lips to keep herself from pushing him unnecessarily.

After what seemed like hours, but was only a couple of minutes, Solas sighed. Lifting his eyes to the Inquisitor’s, he answered her question with another.

“Where do people go when they sleep?”

She looked at him with a long face that brooked no argument. She did not want to play these games.

“The Fade.” She said shortly, feeling like a complete ass.

Solas nodded at her with a patronising smile that infuriated her, but before she could let her temper get the better of her, Solas began to talk.

“When Senta was brought to the infirmary and we discovered that no healing magic could touch her, I came here to consult with my friends in the Fade.”

Iron Bull snorted sardonically - as if he had _friends!_ It was downright laughable. The Inquisitor punched him in the arm impatiently to remind him to be still. Gesturing for Solas to continue, he bobbed his head and obliged.

“When I spoke with them, they informed me that there had been a great disturbance in the Fade. When they went to investigate, they came across a wandering figure.”

“Senta.” The Inquisitor said with dawning surprise.

“Yes,” Solas agreed, “not wanting to draw attention to themselves, they watched her from a distance. I immediately asked them to take me to her.”

“Well?” Cullen said, unable to keep his silence any longer, “Where is she? Can we get her out?”

Solas smiled kindly at Cullen and nodded, “I believe so, however, there is a problem.”

“What kind of problem?” The Inquisitor asked carefully.

Solas turned to her with a concerned expression.

“She is in her own world, which has been twisted and corrupted beyond recognition to her - and - she is not alone.”

A pregnant silence fell at his words and Cullen pushed forwards impatiently.

“Who else is with her?” He demanded.

Solas looked sadly at Cullen and regret washed across his face as he said, “When I last saw her, before Cole called me back to the Waking World, she was in the thrall of a Deceit Demon. I lost sight of them when I came back - I have no idea where they might have gone.”

“Bloody Demons!” Sera cried a bit hysterically. She hated anything to do with magic and spirits - not that she was scared. There were just too many ‘freaky’ things that couldn’t be explained by simple words.

“I take it you have a plan?” The Inquisitor asked expectantly.

Solas radiated approval, as he gazed at the Inquisitor intensely, “Yes, in fact, I do.”


	27. Deliberation

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First of all, I'd like to apologise for the absolute lack of content these past months! Writers block had reared it's ugly head and then everyday life destroyed the rest! I love this story like a child of mine and I WILL see this completed.
> 
> Comments are welcome and encouragement even more so!

 

Cullen had lapsed into a troubled silence as the Inquisitor took over, questioning Solas further on his knowledge of Senta’s whereabouts. He was normally authoritative and outspoken, when it came to matters such as these, but his attention had hit an unexpected snag when Solas mentioned that Senta was currently captivated by a demon.

_Andraste’s blood!_ He thought in distress, as he rubbed at his face anxiously, wincing at his swollen and bruised skin. _Demons… The Fade - a perfect recipe for Abominations…!_

Flashes from his tortured past flitted through his mind; faces twisted in agony, mouths dark holes of screaming terror as his fellow Templars were tortured and killed in front of his unwilling eyes. Monstrosities, beyond all imagination, feasted upon their remains as he sat imprisoned and helpless, waiting to become their next victim.

The tremor in his hands threatened to return as he stood rooted in place, paralyzed by the shock of memories. Shaking his head roughly, to dislodge the unwelcome images, he clenched his hands tightly by his sides to hide his weakness. Breathing heavily, he set his jaw with grim determination, even as his Templar training railed against him. Wherever Senta was, if there was any chance of saving her - magic or no - he would go.

He sent up a quick prayer as he tuned fully into the ongoing discussion, _Maker help us - by your will - I pray that we reach Senta in time._

 

_~_

 

“So you’re saying that Senta and the demon were last seen in the Throne Room, which is no longer the Throne Room, but a clearing in a forest?” The Inquisitor asked, with scepticism written across her face.

“Yes,” Solas said patiently, “You have walked in Fade with me before now. You have seen that it can be anything the dreamer decides. It morphs and fluctuates to their every thought - their every whim. The clearing, where Senta met the demon, was a mixture of the two places she considers to be home. Is that so surprising?”

Solas continued as the Inquisitor shook her head in answer to his last question, “Unfortunately, it is very possible that this place I speak of no longer exists.”

The Inquisitor’s head snapped up at that, “So we may not even be able to find her?”

Solas dipped his head in affirmation and the Inquisitor ran a hand through her hair as she carefully weighed their options.

Solas interjected quickly, lest the Inquisitor decide to call off the search, “We must act quickly, Inquisitor. Time acts differently in the Fade and every moment we waste here brings Senta that much closer to possession, or worse.”

Cullen spoke up then. It had not escaped Solas’ attention that the news of Senta’s engrossment with the demon had shaken Cullen badly.

“Worse? What could possibly be worse than possession?” He said incredulously, which was met with a chorus of agreeable shouts from the others.

The corners of Solas’ mouth turned down into a frown.

“Much more, I assure you,” He said tersely, “In any case, I believe that is not the demon’s intention.”

“Oh?” Cullen said, his voice dripping with sarcasm, “A demon that doesn’t want to possess someone - that’s something I’ve never heard of before!”

“Enough!” The Inquisitor admonished sharply.

Turning to Solas, she said, “Speak plainly, Solas. As you said, time is short.”

Eyeing Cullen carefully, he met the Inquisitor’s icy stare and shared his thoughts on the matter.

“The demon has had plenty of time with Senta and she is fully under its influence, yet we have seen no abomination. Not for lack of opportunities, I’m sure. It must have an ulterior motive.”

Cullen stood with his arms crossed, sullen and pensive. The Inquisitor felt for him - she really did - this news must not come easy to him.

Addressing Solas, she said, “Well then, we must act. We must find out what it plans to do with our friend, destroy it and bring her back to us. How do we get into the Fade?”

Solas watched Cullen carefully from the corner of his eye, as he relayed his plan.

“Entering the Fade is simple, it just requires a certain knowledge of magic. I can enter the Fade at will. I have walked its depths many times - as you well know. I have, however, power enough to take another willing participant with me.”

“I will go!” Cullen interposed suddenly.

Solas squeezed his eyes shut in his unhappiness. He knew this would happen.

“Cullen,” He said shortly, but not unkindly, “that is... unwise…”

Cullen cast about for support, affronted. Finding none, he turned back to Solas with a glare.

“And why not?” He demanded.

Solas sighed desperately and implored Cullen to see reason.

“You spoke of possession. Whatever ails you will make you a prime target for demons. Considering your past, you should know this.”

“I understand the risks,” He said, unmoving, “I may not be a Templar any longer, but I can still hold my own. I will not be a burden - that I swear.”

He shifted uncomfortably and added, “After all, I am fully responsible for all of this… If something were to happen to Senta and I not there to stop it, I would never be able to forgive myself.”

Almost begging now, he appealed to Solas’ better nature, “Please, allow me to do this.”

Solas looked unsure of himself for the first time in history and squirmed uncomfortably under Cullen’s intense stare. The Inquisitor stepped forwards, deciding to take the responsibility from him.

“Of course you can go, Cullen. We are all in danger here and your help would be much appreciated.”

Solas looked to the Inquisitor in surprise as Cullen huffed in obvious relief and, as he bowed deeply in thanks, the grim set of determination returned to his jaw. As the Inquisitor’s decisions were final, Solas, unable to argue, continued begrudgingly to outline his plan.

“You are also able to walk the Fade, Inquisitor.”

She looked at him with grim realisation and said, “The Anchor.”

Then, looking at her hand, she spread her fingers wide in a sharp motion and the rune that had been scorched into her palm began to crackle and spark angrily with unbridled power; green and foreboding, just like the Fade. All eyes were drawn to it, as it sizzled and spat, captivated by its terrible beauty. Flicking her fingers once more to silence its power, she looked up at Solas and nodded sternly.

“Unfortunately, you will only be able to transport yourself into the Fade. The Anchor is not yet strong enough to bring another.”

The others’ postures relaxed instantly as they realised they would not need to enter the fade. The Inquisitor looked around at her friends with a small smile. When her eyes fell on Blackwall, sympathy swelled up into her heart.

“Blackwall,” She said with a small smile, “maybe you should get that nose looked at?”

He bowed slightly, wincing as he touched his broken nose, and grimaced in disgust as his beard crackled with the sound of dried blood. Sera quickly bounced to his side and began to push him towards the door.

“I’ll help him out! I was the one that punched him innit! A good hit right?” She cried behind her, as the rectory door slammed shut behind her

“I...have things I need to get on with too, Inquisitor…” Varric said looking decidedly uncomfortable. He was edging towards the door slowly, flicking furtive glances at Solas all the while.

“I understand,” The Inquisitor said kindly, “from what you’ve told me of your adventures with Hawke, I’m sure you’ve had enough of the Fade.”

He smiled broadly then, relaxing into his normal cocky posture. Bowing with a flourish, he backed out of the door quickly and was gone.

As the Inquisitor watched him go with a smile, she was taken by surprise as Iron Bull gripped her shoulder with a firm hand.

“If you think I’m leaving, Boss - you’ve got another thing coming!”

Placing her hand on top of his with appreciation, she smiled up at him. Then, Dorian’s voice came from behind her. Turning around to face him, she took Bull’s hand from her shoulder and held it gently behind her. She wasn’t ready to let go of it yet.

“I will also stay,” He said seriously, twirling his moustache, “I will be able to sense if anything goes wrong. Plus, me and the big lug behind you have some reconciliation to do.”

Bull’s big fingers slipped tightly into the Inquisitor’s as he flicked his chin up at Dorian in a manly show of appreciation. To a Qunari, that’s as close to a slap on the back as you can get without actually doing it. Dorian leant backwards onto the rectory wall and tried to keep his face serious.

“Where is Cole?” The Inquisitor asked after scanning the room for him. Iron Bull and Dorian shrugged their shoulders absently, having forgotten that Cole had even been there to begin with.

Solas approached the Inquisitor and guided her gently towards the rectory door. Cullen followed quietly behind.

“Cole is never far, Inquisitor,” He said quietly, “He does not wish to enter the Fade, but he will remain close.”

“Alright,” The Inquisitor acquiesced easily, “to the infirmary then?”

Solas stopped for a moment and thought quickly.

“No…” He said slowly, “No - the soldiers in recovery will not understand what we’re trying to do. We do not want any distractions from this side…”

Standing at the door with her hand resting gently on the handle, she turned back to Solas and said, “Well… what do you suggest?”

Solas stared about the room, trying to think of a suitable place, when his eyes settled upon his desk. Walking quickly over to the solid wood table, he began clearing off the artifacts and ancient books that littered it.

As he was placing armfuls of equipment carefully onto the floor, he called behind him, “You may bring her here, Inquisitor.”

Dorian and Iron Bull ambled over to help Solas clear his desk and the Inquisitor glanced at Cullen, who nodded for her to proceed. As they passed through the rectory door into the throne room, Solas could be heard admonishing the duo to be more careful with his possessions and crying out in irritation as the tinkling of broken glass wafted out from within.

Cullen looked at the Inquisitor worriedly, “We’d better hurry, Inquisitor, before there’s no rectory to return to!”

The Inquisitor laughed easily and said, “I second that! Let’s go.”

Cullen and the Inquisitor quickened their pace, disappearing through the large double doors, out into the bright sunshine.


	28. Preparation

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ran out of time during my lunch hour to upload the next chapter - so hear it is and I hope you enjoy :)
> 
> Comments are welcome x

                  

 

Cullen and the Inquisitor had reached the infirmary relatively quickly. On their way across the courtyard, the midday bell tolled out, calling people from their duties; enticing them towards the daily banquet that was held in the main hall of the throne room. Only the soldiers guarding the battlements were left on duty. A simple meal would be brought to them during the festivities so they wouldn’t miss out.

As people streamed by them, chatting excitedly, no one seemed to notice that they were travelling the other way. When the crowds had gone, the grounds were left empty and serene. Birdsong twittered on the light breeze that blew gently through the open space, rustling the grass that protruded from the worn cobblestones.

Music and the clanking of tankards could be heard emanating from the Herald’s Rest, although gaiety was sparse. Any laughter that slipped out was as hard and harsh as the caw of a crow and was quickly hushed.

Cullen and the Inquisitor walked in silence until they reached the door to the infirmary, which was standing slightly ajar. They stood looking at each other guiltily, like two hesitant children about to perform some troublesome act against their will. Cullen waved the Inquisitor on quickly, while shooting surreptitious glances over his shoulder. The Inquisitor, slightly irked, pouted peevishly and reluctantly poked her head through the open door.

All was still inside the infirmary. Many of the patients had been released since her visit that morning, their injuries having been seen to; and the other, frailer patients were deeply asleep on their bedrolls. The Surgeon was nowhere to be seen. It seemed she had distributed a draught of Elfroot Potion among her charges to help them sleep. Then, when all was quiet, she had departed for the banquet. Thank the Maker for small favours! That meant a lot less explaining to do as to why they were whisking away her most indisposed patient!

The Inquisitor withdrew from the doorway and smiled in relief at Cullen.

“The coast is clear,” She whispered, “but we need to be quiet…”

Cullen stood watching the Inquisitor with a befuddled expression, as she cast about searching for something.

“Will you cease standing there, staring at me like a slack-jawed Gurn?” She hissed, “Help me find something to carry her with!”

Cullen’s mouth hung wider in surprise at her outburst and then he suddenly barked a laugh at the image it conjured. Shaking his head, he turned on his heel and marched purposefully in the opposite direction to expand their search. The Inquisitor looked up from her rifling and smiled fondly at Cullen’s retreating back, as he disappeared around a corner.

After several minutes of quiet searching, the Inquisitor’s attention was slowly diverted from what she was sifting through. Looking up begrudgingly, she fixed upon Cullen’s wildly waving form on the other side of the building. His urgent voice drifted over to her, as he tried his best to keep his tone low.

“Inquisitor… Over here!”

Leaving her position, she trotted over to Cullen as he disappeared, once again, around  the corner of the infirmary. As she followed in his wake, she came upon him standing in front of a supply closet that she had not noticed before.

The closet door stood open, revealing all sorts of medical utensils from splints to bone saws. The Inquisitor had never liked hospitals and seeing the vast collection of tools all in one place made her feel quite queasy.

Looking down to hide her discomfort, she noticed a padlock lying in the grass in two pieces. She looked up quizzically at Cullen and saw a light blush begin to creep slowly up his neck.

The Inquisitor couldn’t help herself – she just had to tease him. In any case, It took her mind off of the monstrosities in the closet.

“Vandalising Inquisition property, I see?” She asked, with an impish grin.

Cullen’s blush grew deeper, as he faltered and stuttered. It was so cute when he was flustered, but… to business! She had to remind herself that he was spoken for and that she had her own relationship to think of, if that’s what you could call it. She wasn’t exactly sure what Bull thought of their ‘thing’ - a conversation for later, perhaps?

Placing a gentle hand upon his arm, she said lightly, “It’s _okay_ , Cullen – I’m teasing you. I would have done the same.”

Retrieving her hand from his arm, lest she make him more uncomfortable, she considered the lock lying forlorn on the floor.

“Why would the supply closet be locked, do you think?” She asked vaguely.

Cullen stepped forward, seemingly ignoring the Inquisitor’s question, and pushed the door further open to ensure easier access. As the door swung outwards, it revealed several stretchers that were previously hidden from view. The wooden poles clacked together loudly as he pulled one of the stretchers from its nook.

Turning to the Inquisitor with a serious expression, brandishing their prize, he answered with a single word, “Cole.”

Groaning in comprehension, she slapped a palm to her face.

“Of course…” She said through her hand.

Cole was notorious for squirrelling away all sorts of objects, which would later be found in the unlikeliest of places. A barrel filled with daggers had been found once, where many of Skyhold’s inhabitants had complained of the loss of said side-arms and the kitchen staff had reported plums left rotting on the windowsills, attracting flies. The Inquisitor was yet to speak with Cole about these strange happenings, but normal life had taken a back seat since Cullen had brought her that damned book. It seemed as if the Surgeon had pre-empted Cole and had installed a lock as a precaution.

As the Inquisitor stood thinking about Cole and the entire mess they were in now, Cullen waited patiently. Unable to wait any longer, he cleared his throat loudly to indicate he was ready to proceed. Jerked from her reverie, the Inquisitor glanced at Cullen and quickly nodded for them to carry on.

Without further ado, the Inquisitor followed Cullen into the stillness of the infirmary.

 

~

 

Clean, dark wood shone brilliantly in the torchlight, awaiting its subject. The rectory had no windows, so the torches were kept burning almost constantly. The lack of natural sunlight was Solas’ only regret regarding his choice of personal quarters. The peace brought by a single beam of light, alive with its own energy, could work wonders on a meditating mind. If only that option were available to them now - they would not have to strive so hard to release Senta from the Deceit Demon’s clutches. Privacy was a necessity here, however, or risk causing widespread panic - or worse - rumours of blood magic. Something of which the Inquisitor could ill afford.

Solas stood over the far side of the table, facing the doorway leading out into the throne room. Leaning on his steepled fingers, he recounted his previous journeys into the fade in his mind. A peaceful smile crept onto his lips as he closed his eyes, remembering the familiar sensations that he loved so much.

Dorian and The Iron Bull had gone in search of a clean sheet and a pillow to help make the solid table more comfortable for Senta. Cullen and the Inquisitor, when they eventually return, could debate on who would occupy the sofa and who would be reduced to the unforgiving stone floor. Solas had an idea how that would go.

After about ten minutes of quiet reflection, the sound of shuffling feet and boisterous banter drifted down from the direction of library. Bull’s and Dorian’s voices echoed around the spiral staircase as they pushed one another, calling out insults. Solas rolled his eyes under his closed lids - clearly they’d recovered from their earlier fracas. He turned to greet them as they burst out of the open stairwell, carrying a folded sheet and a pillow between them. They slowed their pace suddenly as their gazes happened upon Solas. In their camaraderie, they’d clearly forgotten that he was there.

Solas backed away from the table to allow them more space and extended a hand to invite them to proceed.

The mood in the room turned sombre as Dorian and The Iron Bull spread the sheet out between them and threw it over the waiting table. Solas retreated against the rear wall and watched, enraptured, as the sheet billowed and swelled.

As it settled into place, Bull frowned as he placed the pillow gently on top and thought that the table had taken on a particularly eerie feel about it, now that it was ready. He lifted his eyes and met Dorian’s gaze across the table, which was glistening and full of pity.

“That will have to do…” Dorian said in a quiet voice, just as two loud thumps echoed throughout the room.

The small party glanced towards the door that led out and over the courtyard, towards Cullen’s office and quarters. Another round of heavy thumps sounded, more impatient than before. Sharing a sense of foreboding with the others, Dorian, who was closest to the door, shuffled across the empty space to open it; his usual swagger and grandiose gone.

Cullen’s bruised face peered in through the crack, looking harried and haggard. His eyes flew back and forth as he frantically searched the opening for someone behind the door.

Finally, he found Dorian’s gaze and, clearly struggling to hold onto something heavy, he cussed in a harsh gasp, “Sweet Maker! Open the door!”

Dorian stumbled backwards as Cullen pushed through, carrying Senta on a stretcher, with the Inquisitor trailing behind wrestling with the other end. In the light of the torches, the pallor of Cullen’s face was thrown into sharp relief. His skin had taken on a sickly hue and the bruises littering his face stood out painfully.

“Cullen, are you-?” Bull began, until his gaze grazed Senta’s twisted form.

“Vashedan!” He cursed, slapping a hand over his mouth in disgust.

The red lyrium, protruding from the bite wound in her side, had grown exponentially in the short time they’d spent discussing their plans. It had even spread, sticking out grotesquely from fresh, healthy skin. Her breathing was laboured and erratic and whatever colour in her face had long since drained away. Dark purple circles lined her sunken eyes.

The small group stood transfixed by the horror that was their friend. They could now completely sympathise with Cullen’s harried look - this must be torture for him.

“Quickly!” The Inquisitor shouted, grabbing everyone’s attention, “Get her up onto the table - we’ll hold the stretcher level for you.”

Obliging, Bull carefully took hold of Senta’s underarms, while Dorian supported her lower legs. Together at the count of three, they lifted her clear of the stretcher and onto the solid surface of the table. Her wings hung down at an awkward angle, so Cullen busied himself by bundling them up and gently folded them by her sides; the Inquisitor, meanwhile, rested the stretcher against a wall. Cullen did not see the state she was in anymore. Instead, he saw the woman he loved - the woman he’d sworn to bring back from whatever dark place she was lost in.

Studying Senta’s dilapidated form, Solas said, “We have less time than I thought…”

Looking hard at Cullen and the Inquisitor, he said, “We need to go and we need to go now.”

Cullen nodded sharply, but kept his mouth firmly closed. He couldn’t speak now even if he wanted to.

“Tell us what we need to do,” The Inquisitor said, completely calm and collected.

Solas dipped his head in appreciation and proceeded to explain their plan of action. Someone would take the sofa while the other lay down on the floor. Then, Solas would use his magic to strengthen the mark on the Inquisitor’s hand so she can slip into the Fade. While the Inquisitor waits on the other side, Solas would cast another, stronger spell to send Cullen to her side. While they’re both sleep, Solas would then enter a state of deep meditation and join them on the other side. Iron Bull and Dorian would remain to ensure that nothing escapes the room should things go awry.

The Inquisitor looked to Cullen for a moment and saw that his attention had never left Senta throughout Solas’ explanation. It was clear, without asking, that he would not leave Senta’s side even for a moment.

Turning back to Solas, she said, “We will both take the floor.”

Solas’ eyes widened in surprise. The Inquisitor huffed a cynical chuckle, fully aware of other people’s perception of her. It was always a shock to others when she showed compassion for her fellow man.

Placing a friendly hand upon Solas’ shoulder, she said, “We are all friends here, I don’t see why I should get special treatment while my companions don’t.”

He smiled in genuine happiness and gestured towards the floor, “If that is your wish, Inquisitor. Let it be so.”

Without further conversation, the Inquisitor settled herself onto the floor by Cullen’s feet. Lying backwards, she sighed as the cool of the stone permeated her clothes. Taking her hand, Solas began to whisper some sort of incantation and her mark suddenly roared into life. She gasped in surprise as the usual crackling sensation reverberated throughout her arm. As she lay there, listening to Solas’ low voice and the crackle of the Anchor, she found that the sounds around her began to bleed into a single hum. Feeling a wonderful sense of peace, her eyes drooped until her lashes lay gently upon her cheeks.

Solas lay the Inquisitor’s hand upon her stomach as her breathing deepened further. He watched her sleeping form for a moment, checking for signs of discomfort. Satisfied with what he saw, he lifted his eyes to Cullen standing beside him. He was watching them carefully with distrust clear on his face.

“If you do not want to do this, Commander - I understand,” Solas said, fully aware of Cullen’s dislike of magic.

Cullen hesitated for a moment and looked back at Senta, clinging to life on the table. His jaw hardened as he gritted his teeth and swung back to Solas with determination. Without speaking, he lay beside the Inquisitor and twined his fingers together over his stomach.

Solas felt a deep respect for Cullen in that moment, knowing the strength it must take for him to do this. With the weakness of his lyrium withdrawal nagging at his mind, which Solas had long suspected, and the horrors he must have experienced as a Templar at the hands of magic - he must be terrified.

_Beautiful, but stupid…_ Solas thought wearily, _this one would bear watching._

As Solas held his hands over Cullen to begin his spell, he suddenly felt a hand clamp onto his wrist. His eyes snapped open and saw Cullen staring back at him with steely resolve shining in his eyes.

“I will not fall victim here,” He said firmly, seemingly having read his mind, “not while Senta is in danger.”

Solas bobbed his head gently and carefully extracted his wrist from Cullen’s grip. Placing his fingers against Cullen’s forehead, he pushed his head down lightly, but firmly. Cullen relaxed reluctantly while Solas began his chant again. As sleep took over his senses with shocking speed, Cullen cast his mind out to Senta and reminded himself that whatever he saw from now on was all for her.

Solas stood from his kneeling position and glanced towards Bull and Dorian. They were watching him raptly and did not speak as he took his place on his chair. Crossing his legs and resting the backs of his hands against his knees, he cleared his mind of all thought and breathed until all was still.


	29. This is the Fade

Cullen did not open his eyes upon the Fade, so much as the Fade swam into being. He realised, with horrified bemusement, that he had no eyes to open. The action of blinking  was there – he could see the darkness spread across his vision and recede as his eyelids opened and closed – however, the simple feeling of his lashes meeting was gone. Such a small thing, but his mind would not let it be.

He lay there, blinking stupidly, until the Inquisitor’s pale face appeared over his head. Her expression was worried as she searched his face for awareness and relaxed into a relieved grin when he met her gaze. He let out a nauseous groan as her face swam and danced in front of his eyes and rolled to a kneeling position, where he sat breathing for several minutes.

“It will wear off,” The Inquisitor said, as Cullen hid his face beneath his hands, her voice far away and warbling like she was speaking underwater.

“I felt the same way at first,” She continued, as Cullen’s breathing began to ease, “but Maker, I’m glad you’re here.”

As the nausea slowly left him, he felt that he could try and speak.

“… And where exactly  _ is _ here?” He asked. His voice sounded foreign to his own ears, with the same uncertain warble as the Inquisitor’s.

“We’re in the Rectory” She returned, “at least I think so… I mean, this  _ is _ the Rectory, but… it’s not the same…”

Thankfully, the nausea did not return and Cullen risked a quick glance through his fingers. The space around them was filled with dark, twisting walkways and the sky swirled with an endless green mist. He was about to ask the Inquisitor what she was talking about when the mist began to gather, changing form and colour. Before his astounded eyes, the rectory manifested just as they had left it, with the others standing in the same position as if nothing had changed. The foreboding walkways were instantly forgotten, as if they never were.

The Inquisitor was right when she said that the rectory in front of them was not quite right. The walls seemed to ebb and flow with the flickering torch light, as if his hand might push straight through should he try to touch them. The floor was the same, but when he suddenly became disorientated and shot a hand out to balance himself, the swirling mist became instantly solid; as if that was it’s state all along.

“What is this?” He exclaimed, completely bewildered, when he lifted his hand and the floor began to dip and waver as before.

Solas’ voice came from behind him, strong and with as much clarity as in the waking world.

“This is the Fade,” He said simply, watching Cullen carefully.

The Inquisitor, having walked the Fade only once before, stood to one side with her arms crossed; keeping her silence and allowing Cullen to find his own way. Solas was the only person who could answer any questions regarding the Fade with an undeniable confidence.

Cullen wobbled on his feet a little as he tried to focus upon the elf.

“Why won’t it… stop… whirling?” He asked, staggering a little.

Solas caught Cullen with a frustrated sigh, as he lost balance again and almost fell. Taking hold of his underarm, Solas held him steady and waited for the dizziness to pass.

“The Fade reacts to your own perception,” He said patiently, while Cullen groaned under his grip.

“Believe that what you see is real and it will be so.”

Giving Cullen an unceremonious shake, he lifted him firmly onto his feet.

“Try it now,” he ordered with quiet vehemence.

Cullen stood awkwardly beside Solas with his eyes closed, concentrating with all his might. Solas waited patiently, knowing in is heart that time was running short. After a moment, Cullen opened his eyes warily and saw that the floor and walls were solid stone once more. Breathing a sigh of relief, he extricated himself from Solas’ support and nodded to confirm that he was alright, when Solas hovered close by, fearing that he would fall again.

Rubbing his face, as was his habit when he was stressed, a sigh escaped unbidden from his lips. Maker, how he hated his weakness.

“I-I’m sorry,” he stammered, looking from Solas to the Inquisitor, “it was as if I was back in that cursèd Circle!”

Solas held up a hand to halt his words, “This is not the time, nor place, for that particular reflection.”

Taking a few steps to bring him face to face with Cullen, he said “Guard your mind – as a Templar you should be quite adept at that.”

Cullen dropped his eyes, as he recalled his years as a Templar.

Placing a comforting hand upon his shoulder, Solas added with a teasing note lacing into his tone, “No need to fear, Commander, the Fade feeds off of our imaginations and – after all – Templars are notorious for their lack of such…”

Cullen scowled at that and Solas chuckled lightly as he retrieved his hand. He was pleased to see Cullen stand taller and stick his chest out in his usual manor when piqued. It may hurt his rapport with Cullen some, but a little incitement works wonders at bolstering his kind.

Solas smiled to himself as he turned towards the Inquisitor and, when he met the Inquisitor’s gaze, she lifted an eyebrow as a knowing grin spread across her face. His own smile widened somewhat and he quickly turned away from her to hide his amusement.

“Are you quite finished?” Cullen interjected in a sharp voice.

They both looked up in guilty shock as Cullen marched over to the door leading into the throne room and shared a quick, chastised smirk with one another once Cullen’s back was turned.

Cullen tried to turn the handle and shook the door angrily when it wouldn’t budge.

“Why won’t this thing open?” He said huffily, as he relinquished his grip and turned grudgingly towards the others.

Solas’ face grew serious, as he surveyed the room. The stairs that led to the library were no longer there – just a dark and sinister void filled the space where they should have been. He knew from past experience that, if they should try to move beyond that point, then some magical force would propel them sharply backwards. They could not go that way. He turned on the spot to face the door that led to Cullen’s office and quarters. It loomed before him, seeming to grow and brighten with purpose as his gaze lingered.

He ignored the doorways insistence to be opened and turned back to Cullen, all jest forgotten.

“We cannot go that way,” He said flatly.

“Why not?” The Inquisitor chimed in, as Cullen shrugged, leaving his position by the door and joining them in the centre of the Rotunda.

He avoided the walls and kept well away from touching anything. His mistrust of magic and consequent discomfort was evident.

“We are being led,” he said simply.

 

~

 

Deep in the memory of the Arbor Wilds, the Deceit Demon looked up sharply as he sensed three new presences slip into his domain. Senta ceased her prowling around the imprisoned dragon spirit, as she’d come to think of it, and stood waiting – her eyes glowing and crackling with the red lyrium’s corruption.

The demon turned his Cullen form’s head towards her and smiled cruelly.

“Play time will have to wait, my pet. New follies have presented themselves.”

He held out his hand to her and she came to him willingly.


	30. No Rest for the Wicked

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi everyone! Sorry for the late updates! I'm trying to tighten up on how long it takes me to write my chapters, but it's hard to keep up when I work on these mostly during my lunch breaks! (Including the drawings!) I'll keep trying xx

 

The rectory door slipped closed with a whisper, as the trio stepped onto the narrow bridge that spanned the courtyard. Cullen was last through the door and, as he looked up at the sky, he recoiled at the sight that greeted him. The Breach, a large, roiling hole punched into the sky, whirled unchecked with the Fade’s awesome power. It had spread from its original position, reaching out with sinister tendrils from horizon to horizon, consuming all in its path. The deafening crackle and roar of the boiling clouds was absent and, instead of lessening its malevolence, it seemed to amplify it somehow, as if it were an unstoppable force – cruel, deadly and utterly undeniable.

“Maker’s breath…” He whispered weakly, looking up in despair, “Tell me you’re seeing this..?”

The Inquisitor shared the same despondent expression, as the sickly green glow of the Breach bounced from her skin. Solas merely glanced at the churning clouds for a moment before returning his attention to their immediate position and the battlements that lay ahead.

“It is a memory and that is all,” he said resolutely, “twisted and distorted by fear.”

Cullen shared a mystified look with the Inquisitor and Solas hissed an exasperated sigh, as the office door across the bridge burst open.

“There’s no time to explain!” He cried, as his staff manifested in his outstretched hand, while a Greater Shade, flanked by two Lesser Shades, slid and slithered their way towards them with frightening speed.

Spotting the demons racing towards them, Cullen immediately reached for his own weapon and found that his familiar longsword was missing.

_Shit!_ He cursed inwardly. _Where is my swor-?_

No sooner had he reached the word “sword” in his mind, when an exact replica appeared in his hand with a flourish of energy. Not a moment too soon, it seemed, as he just about managed to raise the blade in a defensive stance; protecting his face from being split open by the clawed horror of a Lesser Shade. He stood face to face with the creature, his blade raised and tangled with its slender fingers as they groped for his eyes. It screeched putrid breath into his face in utter fury and swung its free hand in a wide arc, meaning to gut him where he stood.

_Shield!_ He thought in desperation and before he knew it, the Shade’s claws were squealing against polished metal.

He stood in stunned silence for a moment, looking at the shield that appeared on his other arm, while the Shade reeled from the unexpected contact. Without questioning his good fortune, Cullen pushed on with his own attack, battering the Shade on the head with the pommel of his sword and forcing his shield forward in a brutal sweep. As the Shade flailed from the sudden onslaught, Cullen grabbed the pommel of his sword with the palm of is shield hand and forced the tip deep into the Shade’s gullet. It died screaming, where it exploded into a cloud of grey substance as its life energy seeped back into the air.

“Maker curse you!” He spat, as the Inquisitor cried out from ahead.

 

~

 

As the demons coursed their way towards them, Solas had cast a quick Winter’s Grasp spell at the Greater Shade, effectively freezing it into place. The Inquisitor had floundered a little, as Cullen had, puzzling at the absence of her weapon. In that short space of time, the second Lesser Shade had closed the gap, swiping at her exposed flank and catching her in the side.

“Inquisitor!” Solas cried, as she was sent sprawling, a fine spray of blood dusting the air as she fell.

Acting on instinct, Solas ignored the Greater Shade in front of him and hastily cast Fade Step, shooting himself forward in a blur of frost – passing through the Inquisitor’s attacker and leaving it chilled in his wake. Reappearing by the Inquisitor’s side, he lifted her up quickly, but carefully.

The Inquisitor waved him off impatiently as he inspected her wound. It was not deep, but it was a mistake they could not afford to make again. Solas frowned, allowing himself to be shooed away.

Cullen rushed the Lesser Shade while its defences were down, as it turned slowly; its limbs creaking and crackling under the frost. Just as Cullen dispatched their enemy with a quick flick of his sword, the Greater Shade broke free from its confines with a burst of icy shards.

Solas was about to speak when Cullen called over to the Inquisitor, as he proceeded to tank the remaining demon.

“Think “sword”, Inquisitor!”

“Sword?” She asked, befuddled, and then her trusty great sword materialised in the air in front of her.

Grabbing hold of the long hilt with both hands, she smiled a devilish grin and ran after the Greater Shade with a bolstering roar. Solas looked on in surprise, taken aback by how quickly Cullen had taken to their environment. Smiling ruefully, he joined in the fight, sending icy projectiles from his staff cascading towards the powerful Shade.

The battle was a beautiful choreography of teamwork; Cullen pulling the demon’s attention, while the Inquisitor ducked and weaved, landing powerful hits to its flank and Solas, battering it mercilessly with icy spells from afar. After several minutes, the Greater Shade fell to their onslaught, screaming and covering them in grey matter as it exploded.

Puffing slightly, the trio sheathed their weapons where they promptly disappeared back into the ether. They took a moment to reorient themselves and Solas utilised the extra time to approach the Inquisitor carefully, as she absently gripped the wound torn into her side. This time, she did not deny him and allowed him to inspect the damage with his gentle touch.

“It is nothing that a health potion wouldn’t remedy,” he said after some deliberation, “however; this region of the Fade will only allow me to summon eight potions at any one time. A condition of our adversary it seems…”

“No.” The Inquisitor said shortly, swiping his hands away, “We do not have time for this, nor the resources.”

Solas frowned at her and was about to argue, when she turned and glowered at him.

“Bind the wound and we shall proceed.” She ordered in a firm tone, “We may well need those potions for when we reach Senta and the Deceit Demon. I doubt it’ll just hand her over! Nor will it be an easy battle.”

“As you wish,” he said unhappily, but he couldn’t help but approve of her ruthless safeguarding.

While Solas was tending to the Inquisitor’s wound, Cullen was pacing about the narrow walkway like a caged animal. The view past the bridge was obscured and dark, denying them the usual scene of the sprawling courtyard below them. His frustration of not being able to see their goal was evident and was shared by his companions.

“Must we be corralled like Druffalo?” He growled to himself.

Turning to the others, he said irately, “I don’t like this. Our goal is hidden from us and there’s no way to prepare for what’s ahead.”

Solas finished up with the Inquisitor by wrapping her wound with a clean bandage that he had summoned from thin air.

Straightening up gracefully, he turned to Cullen and said, “I was hoping that we could slip into the Fade unnoticed, however, it seems that our combined aura has alerted the demon to our presence.”

Gesturing at Solas as a whole, Cullen fired back, “Well you managed just fine on your own earlier.”

Solas nodded, “Exactly – I was alone. My aura by itself would have barely registered and I was able to move freely and unmolested.”

He paced around slowly, holding his chin in thought, “As we entered the Fade together, the combined force must have sent ripples throughout the Fade, acting as a luminescent arrow indicating our exact location.”

He grunted and smacked a fist into his palm, “I was a fool, but we could not risk being separated!”

“That’s all well and good,” Cullen said wryly, “but what do we do now?”

Solas’ shoulders slumped a little as he said, “Whatever we do, we are now at the mercy of the demon. We have no choice but to follow its lead and try to find signs of Senta’s whereabouts along the way.”

The Inquisitor had been busy inspecting Solas’ handy work while they were talking and now looked up at them both.

“Onwards, then! Keep on your toes in case of another demon attack.”

Cullen stood to one side and allowed Solas to pass by him, once again deep in thought. As the Inquisitor passed through the office’s threshold, a thought popped into her mind and she suddenly felt an inexplicable urge to share it. She stopped for a moment and turned to the others.

Not quite knowing why she felt so inclined to speak, she said with false joviality, “Welcome to your Harrowing!”

Solas looked back in shock, as the Inquisitor spluttered, “I’m sorry – I – “

Looking aghast, her gaze flitted from Solas to Cullen and she gasped as it settled upon his face.

He was staring at her, utterly horror-stricken; his face a papery-white mask of shock.


	31. Trials

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi everyone, I'm so sorry for the long gaps between updates! It takes a lot of time to write the chapters and draw the pictures... I hope you'll see this through to the end with me.
> 
> Still lots to go!

 

Wild, raucous laughter exploded from Deceit as he watched the trio floundering about in the reality he’d created using my memories; revelling in their distress and frustration. As he laughed, the imitation of Cullen’s form slipped and wavered, hinting at the horror that lay beneath.

I stood behind him and slightly to one side, watching the spectacle through a small looking portal, which Deceit had conjured, floating between his extended hands. I screamed inside at the sight of Cullen and the others racing to meet me, not knowing the true monster that awaited them. No matter how I screamed, or how hard I fought, my body would not move. I was being pushed back - pushed _out_ \- by something. The red lyrium, I think, but it was hard to concentrate. All I knew was, if that something succeeded, I would be lost forever. I was holding on fast, but my grip was slipping.

I whimpered and cried within and the dragon spirit behind us roared out in anguish. Why did it react when I did? Why did it insist on whispering to me? Why did its voice seem so familiar to me?

Deceit turned to me then, hearing my pitiful cries through the corruption and placed a cold and clammy hand upon my cheek.

“Shhhh…” He crooned, looking at me with Cullen’s stolen face, pulling me closer until our lips were only centimetres apart, “Soon you will be with The Elder One… He only needs you to control his dragon army – he won’t need _all_ of you. First, your soul will be mine.”

 

~

 

Back in the Waking World, Iron Bull and Dorian sat on the sofa quietly, hushed by the eerie atmosphere that surrounded Solas’ magic. As their three comrades cavorted in the Fade, an open link lay unchecked between their conscious minds and their sleeping forms; allowing them to move freely in the Fade, but also allowing access to any curious spirits – otherwise known as demons. The strange feeling enveloping Bull and Dorian emanated from that open link, as the Fade’s atmosphere leaked through.

Wrinkling his nose in disgust, Bull shook his head to clear the fog that was threatening to shroud him.

“Damn mages!” He mumbled roughly, “The Qun’s got it right. Bind them and sew their mouths shut – it would be better for everybody.”

Dorian snorted as he shifted position, seemingly in a better state of mind than his friend.

“I’ll pretend I didn’t hear that,” He said cheerfully.

Looking over at Bull with a curious expression, he said “Bored, are we?”

Iron Bull grunted and leaned his head back against the wall.

“Just give me something to bash,” he said.

Bull peaked out at Dorian from beneath his lashes and Dorian raised his eyebrows invitingly in response. They immediately burst out laughing at the innuendo, but stopped abruptly when Senta suddenly cried out with a pitiful wail. They glanced at each other for a moment, their expressions pictures of unease.

Standing from their seats, Bull slowly approached Senta while Dorian stayed a few paces behind. As Senta’s face came into view, Bull could see that sweat was running freely from her sickly skin. She moaned again, quietly, shaking her head from side to side as if denying something repugnant. Feeling utterly helpless, Bull placed a large, hesitant hand upon her hair, which was slick with sweat, and tried to soothe her. After a moment, that seemed to stretch on forever in Bull’s anxiousness, she abated back into her silent struggle.

While The Iron Bull stayed by Senta’s side, Dorian knelt down next to Cullen and the Inquisitor, inspecting them carefully. Their eyes darted back and forth underneath their closed lids and their breathing was heavy, like they were physically exerting themselves.

_Something must certainly be happening over there,_ he thought, troubled.

Bull’s voice came then, urgent and edging on panicked, “Dorian!”

Dorian rushed over to his side and stared, transfixed, at where Bull was pointing. Senta’s skin, around the wound where Valtok’s tusk had pierced her shoulder, was turning from an angry red to a dead, blighted black. It pulsed and roiled as something unsavoury began to press against the stitches from the inside. Dorian covered his mouth in disgust, as the skin began to stretch and glow a fiery red, until it finally split open. A new prong of red lyrium burst forth, sending Bull and Dorian staggering backwards in surprise. They stood there, gaping, with both of their mouths a signature ‘o’ of surprise. With each passing hour, Senta was looking more and more like a nightmare’s idea of a red lyrium pin cushion.

“Damn…” Bull mouthed, feeling quite sick.

“Wherever they are…” Dorian said in despair, “They better hurry up. We’re losing her!”

 

~

 

The trio of Fade Walkers had traversed the battlements, dispatching any demons that lay in their path, and descended the stairs leading down into Skyhold’s courtyard; when Dorian’s distant voice entered their minds.

“...We’re losing her!”

As they fanned out, upon reaching level ground, all three turned to the sky seeking a source to the disjointed voice. Only the view of the Breech greeted them, twisting in its endless, silent effort to swallow the sky.

“That sounded like Dorian…” The Inquisitor said, turning in place and then lowering her gaze to rest on the others.

“I agree,” Cullen said shortly, “but… how?”

Solas crossed his arms, unaware that he had slipped into a defensive manner. Humans and their mistrust of anything mystical... Could they not concentrate on the content rather than how it came to be?

“It is my doing.” He said in a clear voice that echoed throughout the eerie stillness.

They turned to him then, alerted by his bold tone. His stance softened somewhat when he saw only curiosity in their stares, but he continued quickly in an attempt to curb any unnecessary questions.

“I felt it best that I adjust my spell, so that we may be alerted if anything changes in the Waking World.”

The Inquisitor’s face split into a mix of surprise and amazement, while Cullen’s face turned stony with suspicion.

“What do you mean ‘ _if anything changes_ ’?” He asked, rounding on Solas with anger in his eyes. The anger slipped from his face as he realised something.

“Dorian said ‘We’re _losing_ _her_ -”

Grabbing Solas frantically by the shoulders, he almost yelled into his face, punctuating the last words with a shake.

“Is something happening to Senta? _Tell me_!”

The Inquisitor wrenched his grip from Solas’ shoulders and held on tightly to his wrists.

“Stop it this instant!” She cried, “The only thing we can do now is push on and follow Senta’s trail as quickly as possible”

Dusting himself off with an indignant scowl, Solas mumbled, “I quite agree.”

Cullen gripped his face in high tension and roared out at the sky in his frustration. He immediately slumped to his knees, exhausted and shaking, while the others looked on in concern.

The previous events in the Fade felt as if they’d been playing out for months instead of only hours and he was struggling to contain the incessant nagging of his need for lyrium. The Fade’s atmosphere was rich with magic, thick and cloying - lending a pearly sheen to the air, and, unbeknownst to Cullen, heightening his craving; making it almost unbearable.

He knelt there, sweating, on the cold, unyielding floor, as tremors slipped down his spine; cursing himself and hating his helplessness. The Inquisitor took a few steps forward to offer comfort, but Solas stopped her with his arm; catching her gaze with a silent warning. She glowered back, but held her ground. Solas dropped his arm slowly, as if the Inquisitor would rush by the moment it was gone, and turned to watch Cullen as he struggled. Now was the moment of truth – would he carry on the fight, or would he give in? Standing ready to summon his weapon, he looked on.

 

~

 

Singing, lonely and forlorn, whispered through his mind like a memory. It was quiet, ethereal and not at all like the song he was used to hearing. Lyrium’s usual song was loud and clear. It was overwhelming, like an entire orchestra of voices, sweeping you up, making you grow, as if you could take on the world. This song was much more sorrowful, in a language so ancient that its meaning had already been lost for an eternity. The voices rose and fell like abandoned lovers pleading for their mates to return; sweeping across his mind and caressing his hurts until they too became part of their melody.

Cullen knelt, enraptured, with his sweat dripping onto the packed dirt between his clawed hands, which were slowly digging shallow furrows into the ground. His mouth hung open and the air rattled in his throat as he tried to breathe; each inhalation less satisfying than the last.

His mouth was parched and his tongue felt thick and swollen as he absently licked his lips. He needed water – no – _lyrium_ , he needed lyrium. At the thought of the beautifully blue liquid, the voices that sang in his mind grew to a crescendo, obliterating all thought, impelling him to look up. He did so, terribly afraid of what he would see, but intrigued all the same.

Sitting ahead of him, quiet and tranquil, tipped slightly to one side, was a small bottle of the very substance he craved. He moaned pitifully deep in his throat as the song urged him forwards, shuffling painstakingly across the hard ground towards his nemesis. As he approached, his shadow cloaking the bottle, the liquid inside began to glow at his presence; pulsing in invitation.

He could sense his companions standing close by, as he tenderly picked up the bottle, and could feel their disapproval radiating from them in waves. Let them disapprove – the lyrium was all that mattered now.

_No…_ came the voice of his subconscious, small and hardly discernible over the clamouring in his head.

He faltered a little, with his fingers gripping the stopper, midway through opening the bottle. His brows knitted together as he concentrated on the voice, trying to fix upon it through the fog.

_Fight this… you are stronger than this…_

The song grew louder still, more demanding – screaming at him to come on and open the bottle. He heard a sharp pop and as he looked down, he was surprised to see the stopper lying in his palm. A light mist rose from the neck of the bottle, caressing the rim as it dissipated. He felt an instant panic take hold, with shocking intensity, fearing that the lyrium was escaping and that soon none would be left. He drew the bottle to his mouth, mashing his lip against his teeth in his haste; not tasting the blood as it seeped from the open cut.

_NO!_ Came the voice, formidable and commanding.

He stopped with the bottled poised, the lyrium lapping at the neck, millimetres from touching his skin.

_Senta…_ Implored the voice, as it was drowned out by the bellowing melody that was threatening to split open his head.

He shook his head in confusion and railed against the conflicting emotions.

“Nooooooo!” He cried desperately, as, with all his will power, he threw the bottle away from him where it smashed against the wall of the battlement stairs.

Instantly the voices grew even louder, causing Cullen to cry out in agony, gripping his head to keep it from falling apart. Suddenly, with a final scream from the voices, all was still and all Cullen could hear was the drumming of his heart beating in his ears.

He jumped abruptly when he felt something rest upon his shoulder. Turning his head to see what it was, he recognised the well manicured fingers resting upon his pauldron. Following the hand upwards, he was met by the smiling features of Solas.

Solas looked down upon him with approbation and said in a low voice, “Well done.”

Helping him to stand, Cullen took several shaky breaths before offering a weak smile in thanks.

“What was that?” The Inquisitor said taking Cullen’s other arm and helping to support him. “I didn’t see a thing – it’s like Cullen was hallucinating!”

Solas looked at the Inquisitor, past Cullen’s pasty visage, and said, “It seems it was a test – playing upon our greatest weaknesses.”

The Inquisitor’s mouth fell open in disbelief, “The _demon_ did this!?”

Solas nodded and said, “It appears so. I have not known a demon to have such power in a long time. Be on your guard – who knows what trials await us.”

Before the Inquisitor could probe further, he pointed up towards the double doors of the throne room that now stood ajar and said, “Our way is open – we should make haste.”

Gritting her teeth against the bitter taste in her mouth, the Inquisitor shifted underneath Cullen to better his position and helped Solas guide him up the stairs. As they reached the landing, Cullen pulled himself away and insisted that he could carry himself from then on. He refused to speak further and slipped into a sullen reticence.

Taking the lead, the Inquisitor looked over the courtyard once more before pushing the decaying doors open with a screech.


	32. Unravelling

 

The voices Deceit had conjured merged with his own furious screech, as he closed the viewing portal with a crack. His façade slipped into nothingness, forgotten in his anger, revealing a horror that I had never witnessed before.

The charade of Cullen’s sun-kissed skin melted away into a pale, clammy and featureless worm; ashen and blind as if it had spent a millennium in the shadows. A thin film of skin covered the holes where its eyes should have been, and its maw was bursting with long, terrifying teeth that dripped with vitriol.

A rotten robe hung listlessly from its emaciated shoulders, cascading to the floor, thankfully concealing the majority of its withered form. Unseen terrors writhed on its chest, pressing out against the rank material. I was repulsed by the movement, yet transfixed; my brain fulminating against what my eyes were seeing. Hints of screaming mouths and bulging eyes glowered back before slipping back into the depths of their veil.

Deceit stood there, hunched and muttering, cursing my companions for punching through his ruse so easily. Instead of Cullen’s clear, commanding tones, Deceit’s true voice was wraith-like and scratchy.

“Damn them to the Void! My other tricks will not hold…what to do, what to do? So hungry – so huuuuungry…”

He turned his sightless face towards me then; all pretence now dropped, and grabbed hold of my lifeless limbs with his spidery fingers. I could feel a deathly cold spread through my muscles at his touch, but I was powerless to pull away.

Dragging me closer, and, with no lips to form words, he hissed at me telepathically, “I shall give them what they want – yeees – but it will not be the joyous reunion they hope for!”

With that, his maw opened, stretching impossibly wide, displaying those yellowing monstrosities in all their glory.

The last thing I remember was staring down the endless depths of his throat before the world went black.

 

~

 

Impenetrable silence greeted them as the trio entered the Throne Room, or what _used to be_ the Throne Room. Now the Inquisitor understood what Solas had meant when he said things had changed.

The entrance to the hall was the same, but instead of the meticulously cut flagstones that once lined the floor, thick grass and clumps of soft foliage spun off as far as the eye could see. Instead of the solid stone walls, lit with the comforting glow of torches, the sides gave way to towering trees; their limbs tangled and reaching, fighting for their one chance at sunlight – cutting off the slower, weaker shrubs. The air was heavy with moisture and the pressure crowded against the Inquisitor’s temples like an invisible vice. Beads of sweat sprung from her pores, itchy and irritating.

Swiping her forehead absently, she looked behind her to check on the others’ progress. Solas seemed as unfazed as ever, even though he should have been sweltering under the furs that blanketed him. He met her gaze and smiled sweetly as he passed her, keeping an easy gait as he meandered through the thicket. Her gaze lingered on his smooth scalp for a moment, bemused and a little curious.

_Just how acquainted is he with the Fade?_ She thought vaguely, _He seems completely at ease here._

Her thoughts were interrupted when she heard someone stumble behind her, the dense undergrowth muffling the sound. She turned quickly and managed to catch Cullen before he could fall. Helping him over to one of the tall, thick trunks, she allowed him to rest easily against the spongy bark. He sighed heavily as he supported himself against the tree and gave the Inquisitor a wan smile when she continued to hover close by.

“Thank you,” he said tiredly, while mopping his brow with the back of his hand.

The Inquisitor acknowledged him with a mute nod and looked out at their surroundings from where they stood. The forest was unnaturally dark and the absence of wildlife was eerie, but despite that, their current position seemed safe enough. Solas was nowhere to be seen, but she couldn’t worry about that now.

She returned her attention to Cullen, who was resting against the tree with his head leaned back. His eyes were closed and his mouth was slightly open, savouring the temporary respite.

“We’re safe for now,” she said, eyeing him carefully; noticing that some colour was returning to his face, “we can rest here for a moment.”

He accepted the offer with a barely discernible nod and sank down gratefully into the lush vegetation. He kept his eyes closed even as the Inquisitor’s footsteps sounded beside him, fading slowly as she went to investigate their environment.

 

~

 

The Inquisitor walked along slowly, picking her way carefully through the bush, lest she alert any hostiles to their presence. She kept vigilant, although she couldn’t prevent a certain amount of curiosity from creeping through her defences. The memories they were walking through were a direct link to the enigma that was Senta and the Inquisitor would gladly take any information she could glean from them.

Who was Senta really? Was Senta as big a threat to the Inquisition as she had previously thought? If allowed to fall victim to the corruption of Red Lyrium, then she most certainly would be. She could not allow Senta to fall into the hands of Corypheus - after all - who else would be behind all of this? The Inquisitor had rushed into her judgement of Senta before and Senta had still risked her life to free Skyhold from Valtok’s tyranny. The Inquisitor owed her a second chance at the very least.

As she wandered through the forest, lost in her thoughts, she came across Solas who was hiding behind a tree, seemingly spying on something. Curious, to say the least, the Inquisitor sidled up to him. He turned to her, alerted by her approaching footsteps and quickly held a finger to his lips to warn her to be silent. She gave a brief nod and shuffled closer as Solas moved to one side to allow her access. She couldn’t help feeling heavy footed, compared to Solas’ feather light steps, like a great big Bronto stomping through the undergrowth. Gritting her teeth against the crackle of foliage, she peered around the curving bulk of the tree that they were hiding behind and immediately looked back at Solas in surprise. He looked back at her, his eyes serious, and gestured for her to keep watching. He came in close behind her as she turned back to do as he bid and peaked out over her shoulder.

Standing in a clearing was the Inquisitor’s throne, exactly as Solas had described it; overgrown with toxic flora and practically bursting with nasty looking thorns. This wasn’t what surprised the Inquisitor, though – she already knew how Senta viewed her and the throne was just a visual representation of that. What surprised her was the man circling it. She could not see every detail, but the wings sprouting from his back were unmistakable. He was one of _them._ He was one of Senta’s people. What was he doing here? Was he just another manifestation of Senta’s memories? She had no idea, so she set her jaw and watched.

The mystery man circled the throne once more, muttering darkly. Before he had completed his circuit, he knelt suddenly; the well sculpted muscles of his bare torso peaking out from behind the sash that crossed his body. The material of his harem style pants skirted the floor as he leaned forwards to pluck something from one of the thorns. He sniffed at whatever he had found and grimaced. Standing, with a deep growl vibrating in his throat, he flicked his wings in agitation and looked back over his shoulder.

“Flames take me,” he said with a rhotic accent that the Inquisitor had never heard before, “I can hear ye over there, breathing like a snuffling hatchling!”

The Inquisitor looked at Solas in shock.

“He can hear us!?” The Inquisitor mouthed in disbelief and Solas’ shoulders bounced in an astounded shrug.

“Aye, I can hear ye – now show yourself afore I flush you out!”

The Inquisitor gritted her teeth and hesitated for a moment, not willing to give away their position to this outlander.

Solas whispered over her shoulder and into her ear, “If he can hear us, he likely already knows our position, Inquisitor – I suggest we do as he says.”

“A smart man!” The winged man called from his spot next to the throne.

The Inquisitor pushed off angrily from the tree she had been hiding behind and strolled boldly into the clearing. Solas followed warily, keeping further back so that he could scope out the new arrival.

As the Inquisitor approached, the little details that she could not see before began to come into focus. For one, he was oddly attractive. His hair was a rich burgundy colour, long and tousled down one side of his face. The other side had been shorn close to his scalp, with two thick braids lining the parting. Dark tribal tattoos lined his face, circling his left eye, winding their way down his cheek to a strong, wide set jaw, where they eventually disappeared under his sash to only Maker knows where.

Secondly, his wings were astounding in their beauty. They were thick, well muscled and strong; bright orange and laced with a strange red pattern. The membrane was almost translucent and shone with a pearly sheen that shifted in the light like liquid flame. The Inquisitor found herself mesmerized by the fluctuating waves of colour.

“Are ye done gawking, missy?” He asked gently, the wide smirk on his face evident in his tone.

When she met his gaze, a little dazzled, she found that he was smiling at her with eyes as orange as his wings. The Inquisitor stammered awkwardly, with a rush of heat searing her cheeks. The embarrassing moment was cut mercifully short when Cullen’s voice came suddenly from behind them.

“And who, pray tell, is this?”

He must have been alerted by their talking, that’s the only explanation the Inquisitor could think of for his sudden appearance. The Inquisitor turned to him with obvious relief and was about to answer his question when she saw the expression on his face. He was staring at the mystery man with open dislike, the tendons in his jaw standing out sharply from tension. She looked back at the unknown man beside her, completely lost for words, and found the same hostile demeanour reflected right back.

The electricity flying between them was broken only when the stranger dipped with a flourish into a mocking bow. Although his words were directed to the forest floor, they rang out clearly around the glade.

“My name is Alek Firestorm. Ye must have heard of me - after all, I know all about you, _Commander._ ”


	33. Getting to Know You

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi guys! I'm so sorry this update has taken so long! I'm so bad at updates. Here's the next chapter and I hope you enjoy! xx

 

Dubious faces all around greeted Alek’s claim, the Commander’s most of all. He stood with his arms crossed in defiance, with an extremely sceptical scowl on his face. Alek crossed his own arms and simply waited, his mouth curved into a cocky, sidelong grin. The Inquisitor rolled her eyes at the men’s posturing and confronted Alek. 

“Enough of this!” She hissed, pointing an angry finger in Alek’s face, “I for one have no idea who you are, so start talking!”

Alek stood a foot taller than the Inquisitor and looked down smugly at her waving finger. Before he could answer, though, Cullen came forward and placed a hand upon the Inquisitor’s shoulder, gently pulling her away. Reluctantly, he relinquished what little information he knew.

“He is what’s known as a Winglie…” He said carefully, heedful of his ignorance on the subject.

The Inquisitor shrugged her shoulders with infuriating temerity, forcing him to explain further on a subject that he wasn’t comfortable addressing around this stranger.

He sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose, fully aware of Alek’s silent curiosity, “A Winglie is a man - or woman - born with the gift of flight, different to their flightless counterparts, The Bonded, whereas they can never share bonds with dragons.”

Looking up from his recital, he added, “He is also Senta’s Beta - second in command.”

The Inquisitor looked up sharply at that last and Alek nodded in pleasant surprise.

“You read the book after all?”

Cullen bobbed his head, unwilling to say more on the subject and Alek’s demeanour suddenly turned stormy. Advancing a few paces, he planted an angry finger into Cullen’s chest.

“And still you consigned her to that fate!?”

Cullen pushed his accusing finger away and squared up to him with equal fervour, “I don’t have to explain myself - least of all to you!”

The Inquisitor forced her way between them and pushed Alek away, summoning her weapon as he staggered backwards. As he regained his footing, the Inquisitor planted the edge of her sword firmly against his neck, where it dug cruelly into his skin. He stood stock still, quietly evaluating her with his fiery eyes.

“I’m growing extremely tired of repeating myself, so I will say this only once - As Inquisitor, I take full responsibility for Senta’s fate. It was my decision and mine alone.”

Alek seemed unfazed by the sharpened steel grazing his adam’s apple and stared intensely into her eyes. She squinted at him and leaned harder against the hilt, giving a hint of a smile when he winced.

Now that she had his full attention, she continued, “We are here to right our wrongs. I am very interested to know why and how you came to be here.”

Alek’s eyes flitted between them - Cullen’s face was pale and the stench coming off of him was maddening. He was clearly sick, yet he was here in the Fade. The elf, who had stood silently by, continued to watch him with those beady eyes. Alek could sense his magic wrapped around the others, tying them here. He returned his eyes to the Inquisitor, who was staring up at him with icy daggers, daring him to contradict her. He blinked at her and held his hands up in surrender.

She removed her sword from his throat and as the cold metal left his skin, he sighed, wiping at the area with tentative fingers. He chuckled admiringly when his fingers came away with a light film of blood.

“I applaud your passion, Inquisitor,” he said, rubbing his fingers together, feeling the slickness begin to dry.

She returned his compliment with an impatient wave of her hand. With that, Alek began to explain and the others listened without interruption.

“When Senta left to seek out the Inquisition, we were forbidden to follow no matter the consequence. The Alpha’s word is law, that is why we could not come to her rescue when we felt her agony. I cannot begin to explain the turmoil we were in - our leader and friend tortured and we were forbidden to help... Then, all of a sudden she winked out of existence - we could no longer feel her presence. She had not died - we would have felt it for sure.”

He paced around as he spoke, relaying his thoughts, “We could not fathom where she could have gone. Then, one night, when I was asleep - I felt her. She was here in the Fade.”

He looked up at them with a smile, “She said I could not follow her to the Inquisition’s doors, but she mentioned nothing of the Fade - so... here I am.”

Solas had listened to Alek’s story with a quiet interest; which quickly turned to suspicion. He could not understand how this winged man could be here in the Fade. Only mages had the power to willingly walk these twisting walkways and Solas could feel no magical aura about him.

The conversation continued for a while longer as the Inquisitor sated her curiosity; drilling Alek mercilessly with questions. Solas allowed their voices to fall into a low drone as he chewed over the possibilities. Eventually, the interrogation drew to a close and, satisfied; the Inquisitor declared Alek a temporary companion and called for them to advance. 

The newly formed quartet set off, tramping through the undergrowth, with the Inquisitor in the lead and Cullen bringing up the rear. Solas fell in silently behind Alek, watching him carefully, and even though he created no noise as far as his acute, pointed ears could hear; Alek’s head immediately swivelled around to regard him.

Solas was not easily perturbed - he had been around long enough to experience most of what the world had to offer - however, looking into those burning eyes was like staring directly into the eyes of one of Alek’s scaly brethren. It was unsettling to say the least. Taking a short, steadying breath, Solas quickened his pace and drew alongside the newcomer.

“You seem troubled, Wise One.” Alek said quietly as he approached, so the others couldn’t hear.

Solas evaluated Alek’s words, uncertain whether he was being mocked or not, and nodded carefully; his eyes narrowing in an almost imperceptible twitch. Alek simply beamed his wide, carefree smile and waited.

“…Yes,” Solas said after an awkward pause.

How could he approach the subject with his usual tact? They walked in silence for a moment, Alek completely at ease in their surroundings, with Solas keeping pace beside him; his fingers linked respectfully behind his back.

Solas watched how his feet melted silently through the scrub of the forest floor as he walked, mindful of his own perception of the Fade. He knew that an experienced Fade Walker could be identified by the way they associated with its very nature; expecting everything and nothing - keeping an open mind - recognising that the Fade is an oscillating mirror, where all thought is reflected and intentions are made manifest. If one could master that? Well then, the world would be one’s oyster. Enter with a closed mind and the Fade would be as stagnant and unchanging as the waking world.

He glanced up at the Inquisitor staggering through the wilderness, brambles pulling at her clothing and nicking her skin; a prime example of a closed mind. He huffed a scornful laugh as he dropped his eyes to his feet again.

“Humans,” Alek said with a derisive chuckle.

Solas looked up sharply, unaware that Alek had been following his train of thought. Alek smiled warmly, but Solas did not return it. Instead he dropped his eyes to Alek’s torso and noted that no brambles nor thorns caught  _ his _ skin. They merely disappeared as he passed and reappeared unmolested in his wake.

“I must admit that I am perplexed as to how you can be here in the Fade,” he said, keeping his tone conversational, “you have too much control over your surroundings to be simply dreaming, yet I feel no magic about you.”

“Ah.” Alek said, with a smug smile tugging at his lips, “that would be because I’m a mage.”

Solas’ mouth dropped open slightly in surprise, “You’re a mage? Then why can I not sense you?”

“It’s simple, really,” he said with a shrug, “I have dampened my magic to keep the demon that controls this realm from sensing my presence. If you cannot sense me, then I’m happy to hear that it’s working!”

“Where, may I ask, did you come across such a skill?” Solas asked a little more sharply than intended. He quickly added, “It is a rare and extremely difficult ability to master.”

Alek had clearly had enough of all the questioning and Solas could almost feel the walls go up. He looked at Solas with a scowl.

“Why all the suspicion, elf?” He growled, “I would not pry so much, or risk a few questions of my own. After all – your scent is not so different from the demon that controls this place; sour and reeking of secrets.”

Solas was rendered speechless and stopped walking in his shock. Alek was no longer smiling and stood searching Solas’ face until the Inquisitor called for him in an exasperated voice.

“Alek! Up front with me! You know this area and I could use a guide!”

He nodded a curt goodbye at Solas and joined the Inquisitor up front.

Cullen passed by him a few moments later and stopped when he noticed that Solas wasn’t following. He looked back over his shoulder and saw that he was staring off after the others, the tendons in his jaw tight ropes standing out on his neck.

Turning back to face him, he asked, “Is something wrong, Solas?”

Eventually, Solas gave a slight shake of the head, refusing to meet Cullen’s eyes, and said, “No… If you wouldn’t mind, I would like to walk alone for the time being.”

Cullen nodded politely, unable to hide the confusion in his face.

“Of course,” he said with a frown and, with a bewildered shrug, continued to push on through the shrubbery.

Solas followed shortly afterwards, his usually proud posture forgotten.

 

~

 

I watched my friends from afar as they disappeared through the bushes; everything was awash with red, sickly and repulsive. I was almost lost to the decay, defenceless against its control over me. I could do nothing but wait in the darkest recesses of my mind, clinging to what little light remained.

My body moved from a will that was not my own, making my mouth gibber and mutter as I kept to the shadowy outskirts. I could feel the red lyrium festering in my veins; burning under my skin, which was raw and bloody from scratching. Dark lines of infection ran freely up my wrists, disappearing into the thicker flesh of my forearms.

Tendrils from the overhanging trees reached for my face and licked at my body with disturbing eagerness, seeking to consume me. I refrained from lashing out at them and ripping them to shreds in a fit of rage, heedful of Deceit’s instructions; follow from a distance, stick to the shadows and do not reveal your presence until the very last moment. Then, when they think they have found you at last –  _ destroy them _ .

An unnerving snicker escaped my lips, which morphed into my own pitiful wail, as the foreign force pushed my legs into motion, slinking into the forest in their wake.


	34. Deceitful Quietude

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here's another chapter for you! I'm half way through writing another - I just need to get my head around a few things before I can post it :) x

 

All was quiet in the rectory. Enough so that Dorian felt comfortable enough to leave The Iron Bull for a moment, while he ventured up the spiral staircase to the library beyond. Perhaps he could use the momentary respite to continue his research into Corypheus’ origins. He wouldn’t be gone long; his plan was to grab a few books and work on the rectory floor where he could keep an eye on his charges. In the meantime, he’d be alerted immediately if there were any disturbances from downstairs, as the Library sat directly above the rectory, its walkways tracing the tower’s walls. 

Dorian leaned over the banister and looked down into the rectory at his friends. Bull was still sat by Senta’s head, periodically stroking her hair when she became restless; which was, worryingly, becoming less and less.

Bull must have sensed someone’s gaze upon him, as his massive horns tipped backwards as he looked up. He flicked his fingers at Dorian in salute and signed for him to hurry up.

Dorian pulled back from the railings and turned to the rows of books behind him. He mosied over to the leather tomes with an extravagant swagger, tracing his fingers lightly against their ageing spines.

Within moments, he was absorbed in their depths of knowledge, sat on the library floor fingering his moustache with open books splayed out all around him.

 

~

 

_ Damn it! Where is that damn mage??  _ Iron Bull thought with a groan.

He didn’t like being left alone with Senta one little bit. Not that he was afraid of her, not by any means, he just didn’t want to be solely responsible should things go horribly wrong. After all, things had a habit of going seriously tits up around the Inquisitor. Normally he had no problem with that - the bloodier the better - but when demons were involved? Well, damn.

Bull actually had a strong admiration for Senta. Not just because she was an arse kicking dragon, but because she’d gone through all that shit with the Inquisitor and had still had the spirit to fight for them when they were under siege. It was almost Qunari in a way.

Moreover, leaving her home and her kin behind for a strange and hostile territory, seeking answers for the greater good, was something that he could relate to. Being accountable for the destruction of an entire village, though? That was some heavy shit, even if she wasn’t herself at the time. If he wasn’t down with the Inquisitor, he’d have offered to relieve some of that pent up tension.

_ Well,  _ he thought,  _ she’s got Cullen for that now. _

He chuckled quietly to himself and ran his hand across Senta’s hair again.

_When she gets out of this mess,_ _I’ll have to ask her about that,_ he thought absently, _I’m curious to see how our Mr. Do-No-Wrong performs in the bedroom - maybe give them some pointers._

Rustling pages and the thumping of heavy books wafted down through the open ceiling. Iron Bull wondered again what was taking so long and, yawning widely, he stretched out luxuriously in his chair.

He shot up suddenly when the door began shaking angrily in its frame. It stilled for a moment and Bull watched it warily as if it might leap from his brackets and attack him. He jumped out of his skin when a frantic knocking sounded, followed by a high-pitched barrage of profanities.

“What the-? Why is this door locked? Open this bloody door! Theft! Inquisitor! I demand to see the Inquisitor!”

Iron Bull, reluctant to take his eyes from the door, shifted anxiously and eventually dragged his gaze away from the quivering wood. Looking up to the library, he called up to Dorian as quietly as he could.

“Dorian… We have a problem!”

All went still outside at the sound of Iron Bull’s voice. After a moment of tentative silence, the quiet was broken by a voice shrill with panic.

“Bull? Is that you?”

The big Qunari jammed his lips together, terrified of making another sound.

_ Damn it!  _ Bull thought angrily,  _ Had the Inquisitor not thought to tell the Surgeon that they were borrowing her patient? _

Thinking about it, he wasn’t surprised. The surgeon scared the piss out of him - piss her off and she was as lethal as the Re-Educators back home.

Footsteps sounded behind him and he whirled around to find Dorian hurrying towards him, his well-tanned face pale with worry.

“What in the Maker’s name is going on!?” He asked too loudly.

Iron Bull tried to shush him, but it was too late - the Surgeon had heard.

“Dorian?” Came her indignant question - almost like an accusation, “Let me in this instant! I  _ must _ speak to the Inquisitor! She must be there, I’ve looked everywhere else!”

Dorian crept up to the door and placed his lips as close to the wood as possible.

Talking quietly he said, “I uhh… that won’t be possible, I’m afraid… She’s uhh… the Inquisitor is currently umm… occupied…”

He trailed off with a shrug and looked at Bull over his shoulder, who was staring at him with stupefied horror.

“What?” He mouthed moodily, “As if you could do better!”

Before Bull could answer, the Surgeon leapt on Dorian’s response with frightening fervour.

“You have her don’t you? What are you doing to that poor girl?!” She is  _ my _ patient! I demand her return to the safety of the infirmary  _ right now! _ ”

The Surgeon punctuated the last word with a savage hammer on the door, which rocked in its frame. When the unfortunate pair failed to respond, a string of muffled curses and threats of castration filtered through the door. Extra voices joined the Surgeon’s, drawn by the commotion.

_ Damn it!  _ Bull thought, wired for action.

Where were the others? They knew what was going on! Why couldn’t they distract her somehow?

_ Oh, who am I kidding?  _ Bull thought dejected,  _ They’re as terrified of her as I am. The crazy bitch! _

For some reason, unknown to them, the voices petered out as if they were moving away from the door.

_ Thank fuck,  _ he thought, relieved.

Just then Varric’s voice came from outside, filled with urgency.

“Are you guys retarded?” He hissed through the door, “They’ve split up! Two through Cullen’s office and three up the stairs to the library! Get those exits covered! I’ll try to lure them away.”

Iron Bull and Dorian shared a despairing look.

“Shit.” Said Bull simply.

“My thoughts exactly.” Dorian conceded.

Like we said earlier - tits up.  _ Royally. _

 

~

 

Little did the rambling group know that Alek’s “dampening spell” had had an unexpected, adverse effect on Solas’ own magic, which was maintaining their presence in the Fade. 

Alek, with pure intentions, thought that his spell affected only himself as the primary target, but it was in fact an area of effect spell. This would prove an extremely dangerous mistake to make. Blooming out from Alek like an invisible umbrella, the shroud encompassed the others, sticking to them like a second skin; weakening their abilities.

Being in such close proximity to the source of the spell had diminished their link to the Waking World to the point of breaking; and Solas, completely removed by Alek’s terse comments, had no idea.

Because of this, they did not hear when the situation in the rectory became dire and they were blissfully unaware that they were on the brink of awakening.

If their connection was to be disrupted back in the Waking World, their return to the Fade would be impossible. Senta’s grip on life had almost depleted and her memories would not have the strength to hold them a second time.

She would be lost; slipping into the control of their arch-enemy, becoming twisted and monstrous. Corypheus would finally have his Alpha and subsequent control of his dragon army. He would be able to destroy Skyhold and the Inquisition in a single sweep, leaving him to rain terror from the skies on the rest of Thedas, while his demon army laid waste underground.

None thought to question what would happen should their tie be broken from  _ within _ the Fade.


	35. Eyes in the Dark

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi Guys! I'm soooo sorry for the incredibly long wait. I had major writers block and have only just been able to knock out some more chapters (albeit a bit short) :) I should be back on the straight and narrow now, so fingers crossed I'll have even more chapters to share with you. This story has never left my mind :) xx
> 
> Artwork to follow!

The sound of rustling foliage filled their ears for what felt like an eternity as they trudged through the forest. The atmosphere grew thicker as they moved deeper and the feeling of impending doom crept into their hearts with each step. Still, they pushed on with Alek leading the way.

The Inquisitor stayed close behind, keeping her ears open for her colleagues following her trail. She was painfully aware of the impenetrable silence that surrounded them and was becoming unnerved by it. The sound of her own breathing roared in her throat and the crackling twigs underfoot rang in her ears.

“It’s so quiet…” She said, wincing at how loud her voice seemed.

Alek grunted in agreement, looking at her from the corner of his eye as he walked.

“Too quiet…” He said in a low voice. “There is no life here. It’s strange - the forest is usually teeming.”

They stopped walking for a moment to let the others catch up, as they had fallen behind. Alek turned in place, getting his bearings in the dim light. Everything was the same as back home, but then everything was different. He recognised certain landmarks, like trees that had grown differently from the masses, or rocks that had been misplaced by their twisting roots. Yet their colours were dark - menacing - and their scent was rotten and repulsive.

_ Oh Senta…  _ He thought, troubled.  _ What happened to you to make you remember this so? _

His thoughts were interrupted when a snapping twig caught his attention. His head whipped round in the direction of the sound. The forest was pitch black behind them, like it was warning them not to turn back. He squinted his eyes, straining to see through the darkness.

“What is it?” the Inquisitor asked.

He could sense the adrenaline coursing through her - she could feel the danger too.

He did not answer her and, instead, concentrated on what he was hearing. Cullen’s laboured footsteps reached his ears and soon, the whisper of Solas’ steps followed. He visibly relaxed and smiled as their companions broke through the foliage and joined them where they stood. The Inquisitor forgot the danger, as humans were apt to do, and went about fussing her friends and checking on Cullen’s well being.

While she was busy, Alek continued to search their surroundings with his eyes. Cullen and Solas had not been the source of the noise he’d heard; it had come from further back. Whatever it was, it was no longer there.

Turning back to the others, he said, “We need to keep moving. The village is very close now.”

“The village?” Cullen asked, perking up. He’d read of the village in Senta’s book and was interested to see it in person. If you could call  _ this  _ “in person”. Anything to get an idea of who Senta really was.

Alek nodded and smiled fondly at the thought of home. “Yes, all signs I have found are leading that way. I know that if she were ever in trouble, that is where she would go.”

Cullen swallowed a lump in his throat and smiled carefully. Senta was in trouble all right, yet no one had elaborated to Alek just how bad the situation was. Did he even know what red lyrium was? There was no time, they had to move.

He nodded and they began to walk again. Alek took one more look at where they had come from, scowling into the darkness, and reluctantly followed after the others, ever deeper into the forest.

As he turned his back, a pair of red eyes appeared in the distance, exactly where he had been looking; glowing eerily in the shadows.

 

~

 

I stood still for a moment as my friends turned and pushed on through the trees. The force inside me quietly fumed at almost revealing our presence, clenching my hands and digging my ragged nails into my skin, drawing blood. 

_ This infernal body!  _ came Deceit’s voice from inside my head.  _ Clumsy, rigid and far too tight! _

I gasped deep within myself, realisation hitting me like a cold splash of ice-water. I was possessed! How in the Maker’s name was that possible? I floundered about in my mind, trying to ascertain when this had happened. The last few hours had been a constant haze and I could remember nothing clearly. Then, when I thought that the memory was lost, the image of Deceit’s open maw, stretched wide, floated before my mind’s eye.

I snarled viciously and pushed against the spectral bonds that kept me rooted in purgatory, feeling my awareness brighten as I drew closer. Deceit had coaxed my body into an ungainly gait, having allowed the others to draw ahead, slinking behind the trees and keeping well out of sight. He was unaware of my efforts! He must be unaccustomed to possession, preferring to feast upon their souls instead.

I pushed harder, the sights and smells of the forest becoming clearer as I did so. For a moment, I felt my body stop in its paces and I crowed with premature delight.  Then, all of a sudden, an almighty rush pushed my consciousness back into nothingness, pulling the bonds painfully tight.

_ Back to the Void with you, you wretched beast! This body is mine now! I will use it to expel those pesky tyrants from my realm and then... I shall feed… _

His titter filled my mind until I thought I’d go mad and, with renewed fervour, he pushed my body into an awkward trot. I kept still and quiet in the background, grateful for my clarity, waiting for an opportunity.

In his lack of practice, he was unable to manoeuvre my body and keep me suppressed at the same time. Now, in an effort to rid his domain of my friends, he had opted to drop the spell that was keeping me subdued and had bound me in the darkest depths of my mind instead. All so he could gain full control of my body and personally ensure a quick and easy defeat. In no way could he allow them to reach his true form that lay beyond the village.

_ Fine, then…  _ I thought secretly, as my body rocked to and fro,  _ I will be still and wait – but know this: I am Senta Shadow-Wing, Alpha of the Draconite Clan. Your spell on me is broken and I will  _ not _ be subjected to another cage! _


	36. A Quiet Talk

Weariness slowly crept into Cullen’s legs as they walked, burning its way through his muscles. He welcomed the strain with a wan smile. The presence of something else other than the need for lyrium meant that the craving had finally passed. Until next time anyway.

He found that each step was becoming lighter and that he need not concentrate so intently to drag each foot forward.  He pulled his attention away from walking, with a little trepidation, and directed it inwards; taking notice of how he was feeling. The fire of the sickness that burned within him was abating and the cold sweat on his face was drying under the light breeze that blew gently through the leaves. He breathed deeply, taking in the forest air until his chest grew tight and expelled it in a great whoosh. He staggered a little, feeling lightheaded, but when it passed he felt invigorated. He jumped suddenly when a deep voice came from beside him.

“Colour has come back into your face. You are feeling better?”

It was Alek. Maker knows how he had approached so quietly. How long had he been watching? The corners of Cullen’s mouth drew down in a frown as he met Alek’s inquisitive gaze.

“Do you always sneak up on people like that?” He asked irritably, ignoring Alek’s question.

“No.” Alek said lightly. “You were somewhat… distracted. I didn’t try to hide my approach - why would I?”

Cullen grunted bad-temperedly and was determined to keep his eyes ahead. He could feel Alek’s gaze upon on him though, watching him, and, in the end, he could not resist fixing him with a hard look. He could not explain his instant dislike for this man.

“Is there something you want?” He asked shortly.

Alek’s expression was neutral and Cullen was struggling to gauge those strange, orange eyes. There was something lurking behind them - was it reproach? After a moment of sizing each other up, Alek spoke.

“I’m merely trying to see what Senta sees in you,” he said quietly. “I cannot.”

Cullen did not have the energy to be offended, so he only shrugged his shoulders and said, “I am clearly not at my best, but… I wonder that too...”

He trailed off awkwardly and rubbed his stubbled cheek with an absent-minded hand. He checked himself and forced his hand down by his side, looking at Alek for some sort of reaction.

Alek seemed surprised by this revelation, but Cullen refused to drop eye contact, which mollified Alek somewhat.

“Forgive me…” he said after a moment, hanging his head in shame. “We are a secret people. We have lived our entire lives cut off from the world and trust does not come easily to us.”

Cullen nodded his head gingerly in acceptance. Trust did not come easily to him either. He waited patiently while Alek struggled to put things into words. He had to wonder where this was going exactly.

“Senta is not originally from our tribe,” he said carefully, “so this does not weigh so heavily upon her, but…” Alek struggled with the next part and it burst forth in a rush.

“She should not be fraternising with an outsider!” He spat. “She should keep it within the tribe, as is tradition!”

Cullen stopped walking suddenly, standing in place with an incredulous look on his face. Alek stopped walking as well and stood staring defiantly at Cullen. Suddenly, Cullen understood his instant dislike as everything clicked into place. His eyes narrowed dangerously as he appraised Alek standing before him with his muscular chest puffed out.

“You have a history with her, don’t you?” He said icily, “That is why you are here!”

Alek puffed his chest out more, if it was possible, and flicked his wings proudly. “That is not the only reason…” he faltered.

“Then you don’t deny it?” Cullen interjected angrily.

They stood squaring off at each other, Cullen’s anger evident in his posture, with Alek looking decidedly uncomfortable, when the Inquisitor’s voice broke through the trees.

“You two! Come! We’re here!”

They both looked on through the trees in the direction of her voice, both feeling varying degrees of frustration and relief. They shared a look with one another, heavy with the silent promise that this was not over. Alek turned to leave and Cullen grabbed his wrist with surprising strength. Alek looked disdainfully at Cullen’s white knuckles and a dark growl vibrated deep in his chest. A warning. To his surprise, Cullen did not let go and when Alek met his eyes, he saw only steely resolve.

“You should know that Senta has been infected with Red Lyrium,” he said quickly, all compassion drained from his tone.

“Red Lyrium?” Alex asked uncertainly. He had never heard of this “red lyrium” before.

“You shall see soon enough, I’m sure,” he said with a perfunctory air. As if remembering something that caused him great pain, he scrunched his eyes shut, squeezing down on Alek’s wrist until he thought it might break, and said, “By Holy Andraste, I swear that I will bring Senta back, or die trying!”

At that moment, as Cullen stared unblinking into his eyes, Alek saw exactly what Senta had told of him. A will so strong, honed over time to such an incredible degree, that nothing would stand before it. In that moment, he felt an undeniable respect for such a force.

The Inquisitor’s voice cut through the spell like a guillotine, bringing them back to their senses.

“ _ Now! _ ” She yelled, forever the bossy one.

Cullen let go of Alek’s wrist, stretching out the tension in his fingers. Refusing to meet Alek’s eyes, he pushed past him and stomped off in the direction of the village; standing taller than before.

Alek stood for a moment, rubbing at the angry welt on his wrist, lost in thought. After a pause, he followed after Cullen.

The moment may be broken, but the respect remained.


	37. Lost and Found

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi guys! Another update for you, which I'm really pleased about!  
> I was up at 4.00 am this morning with a damned cough and couldn't sleep, so I worked on this until daybreak :)  
> I hope things are ramping up nicely and that you're excited to see what we have in store for the next chapter!  
> Comments are welcome! Love to you all xx

The Inquisitor’s face floated into focus in front of Alek, like a small, ghostly moon in the gloom. She was standing a little ways ahead, in a break within the trees, blocking the exit with her body. Her stance was tense.

Solas stood close by in broody silence, his chin apparently fused to his fingers. They could well have been, for all Alek knew. Not once had he seen him any other way.

Could his words have been too harsh? Alek felt the prickly beginnings of remorse titter across his chest. Damn his inability to control his mouth.

Distracted from his self-admonishment, Alek wrinkled his nose as he drew closer to the Inquisitor. The smell in the air had grown foul, like spoiled eggs and rotting foliage. He couldn’t help but dig his nose into the crook of his elbow, fighting back the urge to gag.

The Inquisitor’s expression was an obscure mix of determination, disgust and pity. Alek did not like that last one.

He paused for a moment, shoulder to shoulder with the Inquisitor, boring deep into the Inquisitor’s gaze. He could sense there was something that she did not want him to see.

A sudden disquiet leapt at his heart and he tried to push past her.

“Wait-“ she spluttered, gripping at his arm.

He knocked her loose, as if in a dream.  _ Huh… she has a strong grip _ , he thought randomly as he tore his hand away. He vaguely noticed the yellow welts fading from his skin where the Inquisitors fingers had dug into his arm.

Forcing his legs forward, with an unexplainable panic pulling at his lungs, he pushed on through the opening.

~

 

“No!”

Bull’s voice echoed around the rotunda like a feral boom.

Antique trinkets and candle sticks littered the floor around them as Bull and Dorian charged for the stairs that spiralled towards the library.

After Varric’s rude reminder, the ungainly pair had raced around, fumbling for props to barricade the door to Cullen’s office.

The sofa was the only thing available – the table having already been taken – so they had lodged it roughly against the door.

Urgent footsteps could be heard hammering up the secondary staircase leading up towards Vivienne’s living quarters, prompting Bull’s savage outcry. Both knew that a third, lesser used entrance existed among the rows of dusty tomes; currently well and truly exposed.

Bull quietly cursed the extra helpings he’d been having every evening at dinner as he heaved his bulky frame up the last curve.

“How can a mage be inept at casting a simple ward?” He griped, puffing for breath, as they skidded to a halt at the library door.

Throwing the lock with a triumphant ‘ha!’ Dorian turned to The Iron Ball with a scolding frown. “How many times do I have to tell you, you sorry excuse for an Ox?” Summoning a wisp of fire, its tendrils licking hungrily at his fingers, he shoved it meaningfully into the Qunari’s face. “Fire, Bull! Fire! That’s my thing! Give me a demon to incinerate, or a platoon of Templars to blast!  Not some flimsy defensive spell!”

Knocking Dorian’s smoking hand from his face with a comically bored expression, he pushed the mage aside and pressed his ear against the cool wood. All seemed quiet outside. Meaty hands on hips, Bull swivelled in place with a self-satisfied smirk.

All of a sudden the door rocked on its hinges, catching Bull by surprise, propelling him forward into an unsuspecting Dorian. Landing in a heap on the unforgiving floor, Dorian stared up at the ceiling, gasping for air.

Dazed, but otherwise unharmed, The Iron Bull lifted himself up with a groan. Opening his eyes, he came face to face with Dorian’s smouldering gaze.

“Well, what a novel result,” Dorian drawled suggestively, holding on to Bull’s sizeable biceps.

Normally game with such endeavours, The Iron Bull did  _ not _ like to be taken by surprise. Standing up, dusting himself off, he eyed the door with a dirty sneer. Commanding voices yelled beyond and Varric could be heard scurrying back and forth, hysterically trying to dissuade whatever was happening.

“What the-“ Bull began when to door bowed dangerously inwards with a resounding crash. The wood sat askew in its frame, splinters poking free from the grain.

“They’re battering their way in!” Dorian cried with appalled admiration.       

“With what!?” Bull cried in distress.

“Does it matter?” Dorian responded, grabbing the biggest thing at hand – Bull himself. Pushing him towards the door, he ordered, “Barricade the door – do something!”

With nothing to assist him, except his own extraordinary strength, he braced the wood where it had splintered outwards, spreading his legs into a supportive stance and waited.

It wasn’t long before the strongest hit of all assaulted the door, knocking Bull back savagely, reverberating through his arms and rattling his teeth. The wood crunched menacingly beneath his hands.

“Damn it!” He yelled, completely at a loss. “What the hell is wrong with these people?”

Dorian stood to one side, with his staff ready and battle in his eyes. A small crowd of people had gathered a safe distance away, mouths agape as they watched the spectacle unfold.

“Watch out!” came Varric’s panicked cry, before a rousing war cry drowned him out.

Both The Iron Bull and Dorian were thrown backwards in a shower of wood and metal as the rear end of a dining table appeared in the wreckage of the doorway. The legs swung back and forth merrily, defying gravity by a single thread. One eventually gave up the ghost and landed on the floor with a hollow thump.

Absolute silence reigned.

Covered in dust, with fragments of the library door scattered all about them, the unfortunate pair shared a dismal look.

“Well,” Dorian said; ever the optimistic one. “A ward would have been handy!”

 

~

 

Alek’s once flippant mouth stood agape in outright horror as he turned in lazy circles, drinking in his surroundings.

Having pushed past the Inquisitor, he’d marched unheeding into the centre of his worst nightmare. Coming face to face with the spectacle all around him, he’d ground to a halt, his wings falling slack to the floor; unfolding in lacklustre ripples against his back. The image gave the distinct impression of a Mabari hound with its tail between its legs.

“Mythal help us…” he muttered in a small voice.

The village he knew and loved, which he had lived in and protected his entire life, bore down on him from all sides.

Wooden apartments sagged in their foundations high in the trees, their ladders and pulley systems rotted and rusted. The windows and doors had long since collapsed in their frames, giving the uneasy feeling of eyes and mouths staring down in silent accusation.

The trees themselves, usually flourishing, were sickly and pale, covered in unnatural growths with their leaves blotched and waning.

Choking vines drew the eyes downward to ground level, where the massive forges, normally bright with dragon fire, lay cold and forgotten.

Off to one side, the tunnels that led down into the lower reaches of the village sat ominous and foreboding. As Alek watched, as if mocking him, the moss-covered archways crumbled and fell with a boom that rumbled through his very core.

After all of that, that was not the worst part.

No matter where he looked, jagged columns of some red substance protruded from every surface. The ground, the buildings - the trees themselves – spouted throngs of the stuff. It glowed menacingly, as if alive, and throbbed in unison like a heartbeat.

A strange energy sizzled and popped around them, buzzing in the ears like and angry swarm of bees. It was maddening! The smell of rotting eggs was emanating from them in waves, like brimstone.

“Red Lyrium,” the Inquisitor said quietly at his side, startling him.

“This is…  _ lyrium?” _ he said, shocked.

The Inquisitor did not answer. Instead she stood looking intensely out across the wrecked village as if she were adding the scene before her to a long list of things to avenge.

Solas’ soft footsteps came from behind them and his voice was softer still. “It is lyrium, but not as we know it. It has been corrupted and changed beyond all recognition.” He eyed Alek stoically, who averted his gaze uncomfortably and instead, knelt down beside a tiny prong of red lyrium that was poking up from the dirt.

Solas carried on further into the village and stopped with his back to Alek. Turning his head to speak over his shoulder, he admonished, “Don’t touch it.”

Alek quickly withdrew his finger as if burned, just moments away from exploring the tiny spike further. He stood slowly, rubbing his finger self-consciously and pouted at Solas’ back. “Why?” he asked.

“Trust me… it is inadvisable,” he said and walked away.

“Inadvisable…” Alek muttered, scolded. He’d known him a matter of hours and already Solas was grating on his nerves. No wonder he smelled of dust and books - he was a walking thesaurus. He couldn’t help himself, even with their current surroundings, and so called out to Solas as he walked away. “Hey Solas!”

He kept walking.

“What’s another word for an obnoxious know it all?”

A raised middle finger greeted the remark prompting a snuffled snort from Alek. All was good; they’d be best buds in no time.

The Inquisitor, having stood to one side in silence, hid a smile behind her hand and followed after Solas. Not before Alek noticed, of course. A strange warmth zapped southward through his chest and settled somewhere in his gut. He shook himself, finding that he was alone and rooted to the spot, looking after the copper haired woman like a bemused puppy. Now was not the time for attraction.

Cullen, who had remained at the back of the party quietly taking in the ramshackle village around them, came forward and knelt to pick up something that he had spotted lying among the weeds.

It was a doll. A simple thing made of rough cotton, dyed green, in the shape of a dragon and stuffed with wool. When Alek saw it lying lifeless in Cullen’s hand, a sharp pang shot through his heart. He knew exactly who that doll belonged to. She was the sweetest winglie girl, at the tender age of six, called Peridot for the shocking green of her wings and eyes.

One evening, she had come to Alek, utterly beside herself. Some of the wingless children had been teasing her, calling her names and ostracising her, because she had no dragon of her own. Alek had taken the tiny child in his arms and had rocked her quietly until her wails had waned to sniffles. He’d explained to her then, that the gift of flight was the greatest of all.

The gift of freedom.

The wingless could only go where their dragons could take them, limited by their grand size and when her wings were fully developed; she could go wherever she pleased. She’d looked up at him with those big, brown eyes with tears brimming anew and cried, “But it’s so  _ lonely!” _

Alek had been taken aback by the grief in her voice and, not knowing what to say; he’d merely sat there, holding her, until she had cried herself into a fitful slumber.

Tucking her into his bed, kissing her lightly on her chocolate hair, he’d taken some off-cuttings from some clothing that he’d been helping the seamstresses to make and slaved all night to stitch and stuff that doll. He’d even fashioned the doll’s eyes from Stormheart chippings, which he’d borrowed from the blacksmith, to match her own.

It wasn’t his best work, but Peri’s little face when she awoke the next morning to the miniature dragon staring at her from the pillow beside her was priceless.

She’d never let go of it since.

Taking the doll tenderly from Cullen’s fingers, he clutched it to his face, bitter tears swelling behind his eyes.

Cullen’s hand gripped his shoulder in sympathy. “I’m sorry,” he said lamely.

Forcing back the grief that this place was trying to flood him with, Alek lowered the doll from his face and stared at it for a moment longer. “It’s okay,” he said, not meeting Cullen’s eyes. He swallowed hard and pushed all emotion away. “This isn’t real.”

The moment he admitted that fact to himself, the doll dissolved into dust and was picked up and scattered by a sudden draught.

At that moment, a fourth voice spoke from the direction they had come. It was a voice they all recognised and yet, it was completely foreign and drooling with mockery.

“Who said that this isn’t real?”

All together, they spun towards the source of the voice and found the very person they had been trying to locate.

None were prepared for what they saw.


	38. Breaking Free

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi readers! I'm so sorry for the long delay for this update. I can't explain the events of real life that have kept me from writing over the past few weeks. Just know that it has been absolute nug-shit.  
> I hope you enjoy and I'm sorry if it seems a bit scatter-brained. That's how it's been for me!! xx

****Cullen had witnessed the result of Red Lyrium’s influence on the Templar Order first hand. Men and women were twisted into unfathomable beasts, their limbs transformed into deadly crystallised weapons, while their skin blistered and oozed with pus-filled blood.

Those men and women had been his friends and colleagues once and it was a harrowing experience to have to put them down like dogs. He was grateful, at least, that they were usually unrecognisable at that stage.

That was not the case now.

The creature that stood in front of them was a monster, but one he knew intimately.

“Senta…” he moaned quietly, recoiling from the sight. “We’re too late…”

The red lyrium had spread, obscuring her back and shoulders where her wings had once been, arcing out in a spectacular crest of deadly spikes. Her arms hung limply by her sides, the skin about them black and peeling, with deep tracks torn into them as if Senta had tried to rip out her very veins.

Her armour was the same from her fight with the white dragon, but it now hung loosely from her body and her joints poked out awkwardly from the well-worn leather. Her face was the same as he remembered, however, untouched by the corruption around her, partially hidden by her sweat-matted hair. Her head was sagging against her chest and he was ashamed to admit that he was glad he could not see her eyes. He could not possibly cope with the accusation he knew would be there.

His chest constricted painfully as guilt wound around his heart with icy fingers. _It’s my fault…_ he keened inwardly. _This is all my fault!_

Tearing his gaze away, he glanced over to where Alek was standing and saw that he was frozen in place with horror. His mouth was agape and his jaw was working slowly, as if he were trying to say something – or, more likely, trying to keep from screaming.

Cullen had no idea about his other companions’ whereabouts; they had disappeared further into the village to perhaps scout the area. For now, he knew, they were on their own.

They stood together at an impasse, neither of them ready to make the first move and neither really believing what they were seeing. Senta just stood silenty in her eerily hunched state just shy of the tree line, half ensconced in shadow.

Cullen was beginning to doubt that he had heard her voice in the first place. Maybe it was the Fade playing on his guilt, manifesting this nightmare for all to see. It made a strange sort of sense; being in a place so close to her heart and knowing what she had looked like when this whole mission began.

He relaxed visibly and turned to leave, placing a firm hand upon Alex’s shoulder. “Come,” he urged firmly. “It’s just a trick of the Fade.” He threw a nervous look over his shoulder and added, “Even if it is strangely realistic.”

Alek hesitantly allowed himself to be pulled away, but then, a strange movement caught his eye stopping him in his tracks. By the look of growing alarm on Cullen’s face, he had seen it too.

Senta’s head had begun to rise slowly, shaking wildly from side to side like a puppet on a string. Her hair fell back from her face in clumps, revealing eyelids that had been glued shut by spidery patches of red lyrium, which had oozed forth from the corners of her eyes. With a crusty tearing sound, her eyes opened to fix them with a ghostly stare. They were pitiless, malignant – as empty as the void – and they were glowing a wicked shade of red.

Cullen and Alek held onto each other for support, both fixed in place and wired to the maximum.

“This is definitely a trick,” she tittered wildly. “You were always the clever one, Cullen!”

And with that, she launched herself at them with frenzied laughter ringing in their ears.

 

~

 

I watched in horror as my hands, hooked into grotesque claws, raked at my companions’ shocked faces. I screamed in frustration as the men were driven backwards by the ferocity of my attack, while Deceit hijacked my mouth to scream and laugh his shrill victory.

Neither man wanted to raise a hand against me, both in a bewildered state of denial as blows rained down upon them. They fell back, crying out in dismay as their blood flowed freely. Upon hearing their cries, Solas and the Inquisitor came tearing into view with their weapons drawn.

“What’s going on-“ The Inquisitor yelled, before being cut off by a cascade of red lyrium crashing through the thicket towards her. Rapidly taking cover, she eyed the prongs of red lyrium warily as they sat imbedded in the ground only feet from her, fizzling and spluttering. She cast about frantically for Solas and spotted him hiding behind a tree close by.

_Has my body really slipped so far?_ I thought, awed by the display of power before me as Deceit lowered my arms. As the Inquisitor had appeared around the corner, I’d felt my hands ripped behind me to reach for the red lyrium protruding from my back. In a flurry of speed, he had torn them from my skin and had flung the nodes at the newcomers with frightening accuracy. If he saw movement, he would heave more nodes towards them, effectively pinning them down in their hiding places.

Cullen and Alek had scrabbled backwards, taking the opportunity to put some distance between us and gain their feet. They stood separated on either side, Cullen summoning his sword and shield, while Alek supported two burning fists. They gazed at me through their bloodied faces with distrust burning in their eyes. It broke my heart to see.

 

~

 

We stood at an impasse, with my back to the woodland from whence we’d come and theirs against the village beyond. Only Solas, from his vantage point behind a tree, could see the two faceless spectres floating just behind the tree line. He jerked with concern when he realised who they were, but could do nothing. What were they planning?

He gestured wildly to garner the Inquisitor’s attention. She was hiding behind one of the many buildings, partially obscured by the crystals jutting out haphazardly from the ground.

Registering the concern on his face and not able to speak with him properly from her current position, she made a snap decision. Hopping from one lyrium node to the next, while more flew overhead and thudded into the ground where she had been only moments before, she made her way painstakingly to Solas’ side.

Slipping in the mud, Solas pulled her to safety just before more shards tore past. “What are you doing?” He admonished sharply.

Dusting herself off and trying to catch her breath, she gasped, “I couldn’t hear you, so I had to get closer.” She looked about at the limited space around them. “A little closer than intended, actually…”

Solas waved off the Inquisitor’s rambling with a sharp cut of his hand. He directed her attention to the ghostly figures floating beyond Senta’s pacing form.

“My friends…” He said as way of explanation.

The Inquisitor watched with growing alarm as they drew closer to Senta. “What are they doing?” she breathed. Solas looked at her, completely at a loss.

In the meantime, Senta had paused her pacing. She was standing in the clearing with her feet spread and her arms held aloft at her sides, palms facing skyward. Cullen and Alek had been closing in on either side, unsure of how to proceed. They stopped momentarily, feeling a growing rumble from beneath their feet. The rumbling grew in intensity, but was suddenly cut short when a sharp, pained caw echoed through the clearing.

Senta stood frozen in place, with an expression of agony pasted across her maimed features. Two spectral figures could be seen on either side of her, one a dazzling shade of magenta, while the other glowed a shocking turquoise.

_Wraiths!_ Cullen thought, panicked. _What are they doing?_

The turquoise creature had Senta anchored to the ground, its wispy arms wrapped around her legs while its torso disappeared into the earth. The pink wraith seemed to have sunk its arms into Senta’s head right up to the elbows.

 

~

 

Unimaginable pain exploded in my head as a blinding pink light enveloped the world. Fingers seemed to wrap around my mind and began to pull, persistent and unrelenting. My scream was loud in my head, but Deceit’s was even louder, piercing through from one ear to the other like a white hot poker. Every time those fingers tugged, his scream grew distant and the hold on me grew weaker.

_Push!_ Came another voice. Kind, but commanding. _Push against the bonds!_

I needed no further encouragement, and with a roar of determination, I pushed.

 

~

 

The quartet watched in awe at the struggle before them. Solas and the Inquisitor had relinquished their hiding places to watch with grim faces.

 Cullen felt sick inside when he saw what the pink wraith was doing. It seemed to be _pulling_ something from Senta’s body, head first. Whatever it was, it was black and swirling with sinister red mist. To him, it looked like a disease made real.

With a final tearing noise, mixed with Senta’s screams, the surreal phantom was ripped from Senta’s mind with cataclysmic results. A shockwave of energy tore through the clearing with destructive force, knocking the group off their feet and blowing them back several metres. The prongs of red lyrium stuck in the ground disintegrated in a torrent of splintering crystal.

As Alek was driven backwards, the concussive effect of the shockwave forced him to lose hold of his dampening spell.  His power surged forth uncontrollably and added its fury to the chaotic storm around them. Amidst the confusion, he felt some kind of link snap, causing him to feel unmoored and lost.

In the waking world, their sleeping eyes grew still. On each of their foreheads, a scalding line burnt its way across their skin, tracing a symbol that was well known to every mage across the world.

The image of a blazing sun.

With all the activity upstairs, the dramatic turn of events had gone unnoticed.


	39. Aftershock

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi Guys! Happy New Year!   
> Sorry for such a long delay on my latest update. Such a lot going on in RL, it's unreal!  
> I hope you enjoy - it's quite a long one! xxx

The deep, dark, comforting warmth of unconsciousness slowly receded into a high-pitched ringing that thrummed in Cullen’s ears like a well-struck tuning fork. Sharp blades of grass prickled at his neck as he lay on his back, poking awkwardly into his skin.

His eyes flickered for a moment and then opened with the hesitancy of a new-born’s. The daylight, however, took no prisoners and in an instant, clawed its way to his retinas with a searing voraciousness. Cullen recoiled with a choked gasp, pawing groggily at the sky in an effort to stem the flood.

Winded and queasy, he rolled onto his front and pressed his face into the dirt to ward off the pain. The musty smell of earth filled his nose and the gritty clay stuck to his lips as he wondered vaguely where he was.

As Cullen’s senses returned to normal, a new sound reached his throbbing ears: the sound of stirring bodies. All at once, the horrific memory of Senta’s sordid form hit him with the force of a second shock wave. Riding the fresh surge of terror, Cullen urged his body into motion; rolling sideways, away from the sound of shuffling limbs. He leapt to his feet, crouching low with the fingers of one hand splayed on the ground before him and the other hand thrown backwards, ready to summon his sword.

He blinked frantically in an effort to acclimatise to the bright light and through the watery haze of his tears a humanoid shape wavered into view. The figure was crouched before him, all but a shadow, except for a single shock of red.

 

~

 

Iron Bull watched in wonder as the library door disintegrated into a cloud of splinters to a chorus of raucous cheers. Disjointed limbs grew from the door, flopping about like grotesque fish, searching for purchase and tearing away the remaining wood.

The table had been withdrawn with a lamenting screech, swallowed whole by the faceless beast that lay beyond. The gaping whole left behind was its mouth and the waving arms were its many mandibles; reaching and ripping, just waiting for you to get close enough so it could grab you and pull you in for its next meal. From Bull’s position, lying sprawled on the floor propped up on an elbow, the sight before him felt surreal and all the more frightening.

The Iron Bull hated demons with a passion and, right now, the mob’s behaviour behind the door was becoming disturbingly familiar.

He swallowed a thick lump in his throat that refused to budge, unsure of what to do, and looked over at Dorian for some sense of inspiration. Bull was dismayed to see his own expression - with maybe a tad more disgust mixed in there – mirrored on Dorian’s face.

_Barbarians!_ Bull thought hysterically, imitating Dorian’s flamboyant flare for dramatics. Forcing himself to remain calm, he raised himself to his feet with methodical slowness. Slivers of timber and specs of mortar skittered from his body, seeking the quickest route to the ground. Taking hold of Dorian’s underarms, Bull helped him to stand. Acting more quickly now, he gripped Dorian’s shoulders like a vice and shouted into his ear so he could be heard over the commotion outside. “What happens if they reach the Boss before they’re ready?”

“I- I- I,” Doriin stammered, his wide eyes glued to the ravenous mass that was fast gaining ground. “I-“ His eyes slid to Bull’s with dawning urgency. “Nothing good.”

Jerking into motion, Bull shoved Dorian towards the staircase that led down to the rectory where their friends lay in timeless slumber. “We need to hold the stairs! It’s a bottleneck and should slow their progress!” he yelled. “It’s our last chance!” Dorian only nodded and prepared for the inevitable onslaught.

_They’re fucking crazy!_ Bull thought to himself, releasing his battle axe from his back, brimming with unease. _The Boss better wake the fuck up and quick! We’re running out of time._

The Qun did not allow prayer and worship, but at that very moment Bull prayed. He prayed to any god that would hear him. He really didn’t want to hurt these people.

 

~

 

“Wait- Stop-“ came a voice that Cullen recognised with a twist of confusion. His vision followed reluctantly, forming the familiar shape of Inquisition armour, a mop of unruly copper hair and eyes as cold and sharp as the cruellest winter.

It was the Inquisitor.

Her lips were pulled back in a grimace of worry and her hands were held out in front of her as if to calm some panicked beast about to bolt. Cullen supposed he looked like exactly that; his face grizzled, eyes wide and staring, his muscles coiled tight enough to snap.

Upon seeing the Inquisitor’s face, the tension bled away from his body in invisible tracks, leaving behind a bone-shattering weariness in its place. Regardless of his body’s wishes, he wasn’t about to give his trust so easily. Senta’s surprise attack had shaken him badly.

He stood warily, watching her movements very carefully. His eyes had adjusted fully now and they raked her for any tell-tale signs of deception. Unaware of his suspicion, she heaved a great sigh of relief and ran her hands over her face and laced her fingers through her hair. Cullen relaxed a bit more, recognising the habitual gesture. The Inquisitor would always do this when her nerves were frayed, which Cullen realised, was not a good thing in their current situation. The springs in his arms and legs ratcheted back up again.

“What the hell happened?” he snapped. “Where are the others? Are they alright? Where’s Sen-”

“Maker! We don’t have time for all the questions!” she cried in exasperation. She looked at him sharply and sighed dramatically. “There was a massive explosion – I’m not sure why. You and Alek-“ she waved vaguely behind her shoulder and continued, “-were closest to the blast and knocked unconscious. Solas and I were on our way to assist you when we were caught in the blast and thrown backwards.”

Cullen followed the direction of the Inquisitor’s gesture and eyed the other men with suspicion, as they crouched with their backs turned over something crumpled on the floor, partially obscuring it from view.

Was that a body? No, it couldn’t be.

Alek, with dirt, blood and grime smeared across his arms and face, scratched ruefully at the stubble of new growth on his head while Solas drilled him with relentless questions.

Their faces were hidden from Cullen, but he could tell that Solas was furious. Solas’ voice would rise to a fever pitch and his hands would wave wildly before he managed to curb himself again. Cullen had never seen him so riled, even after the Inquisitor had chosen the Templars over the rebel mages. Occasionally, Alek would snap back, roused, and the tension would swell dramatically until he relented, slipping back into an uneasy, guilt-ridden silence.

To Cullen, their voices sounded taut with worry and he didn’t like that – Not. At. All. Agitated mages always alluded to disaster, whether passed or close at hand.  

The Inquisitor stood quietly to one side, allowing Cullen the time to process her words and to take in their situation. “Why are they arguing?” Cullen finally asked as Alek exploded into a fresh gale of irritation. “We no longer seem to be in any danger.” The Inquisitor shifted uncomfortably and her mouth pulled into a reluctant frown. She refused to meet his eyes and, instead, opted to drop her gaze to the floor where her feet pushed uneven channels into the loose, grey soil.

“I- uhh…”

“Inquisitor?” A pit of black, oily worms began to wriggle somewhere deep down in his gut.

“I don’t really understand it…”

“What-? Don’t understand what?” The worms wriggled harder.

The Inquisitor growled softly under her breath and when she met Cullen’s eyes, he was shocked to see that the woman before him was as anxious as the others. The mask of bravado slipped slowly from her face, leaving rivulets of apprehension at the corners of her eyes and mouth. “Cullen,” she said, her voice catching slightly on his name. “Solas knows more of this than I, but…” She steeled herself for what was to come next and, without knowing it, Cullen stopped breathing. “… We’re... supposedly... Tranquil.”

Cullen blinked furiously at the Inquisitor, trying desperately to comprehend her words. “Wh- what are you talking about?”

“We’re Tranquil, Cullen! That’s it – the game’s over. There’s no way out!”

As realisation sucker-punched Cullen in the proverbials, the pit of oily, wriggling worms in his gut froze solid.

 

~

 

Stars exploded inside Alek’s head and his world flipped violently sideways with a meaty thump as flesh met with flesh. He hit the floor with a harsh grunt, mashing his cheek on the ground, tearing the delicate skin against his teeth. The pain he felt there was nothing compared to the roaring agony raging up the other side of his face.

He righted himself, spitting a foamy brew of blood and spit upon the floor and explored the damage with tender fingers. He gazed up reproachfully and found Cullen glaring back, breathing heavily, with a snarl marring his handsome features and a clenched fist raised. Cullen’s knuckles had split and were bruising nicely from the mean right hook he had just administered on Alek.

Solas had fallen backwards onto his arse, an arm raised to ward off the sudden threat that had burst in on them, their argument completely forgotten. He was staring at Cullen with such a mixture of awestruck wonder and offence that Alek would have laughed if it hadn’t hurt so much.

The Inquisitor had a firm grip on Cullen’s shoulders as if to hold him back, though the fight had all but left him. Angry tears welled in his eyes, almost as if he were slowly filling with water and drowning on the inside. At that moment, Alek understood why it was said that the eyes were windows looking in upon the soul. The pain there was all too real.

Alek made no move to retaliate and instead, propped himself up on one elbow and worked his jaw gently, checking for broken bones. He groaned, cursing the stiffness that was already weaving its way through his tendons. “I guess I deserved that,” he said slowly after a beat.

“What the hell is wrong with you?” Cullen yelled, his voice breaking with anguish. “Ever since you got here things have just gone from bad to worse!” He lunged for Alek again, but was dragged backwards by insistent hands. He was only vaguely aware of the Inquisitor holding onto him, trying to dissuade him with petty words. In his grief it was all just meaningless noise.

Cullen’s bereft anger had channelled into a swirling grey tunnel with the mage responsible being the only thing visible at the far end; like looking through a spyglass the wrong way. Alek was nursing his chin, with one wing tucked awkwardly under his body where he had fallen, staring at Cullen with an expression that smothered his rage like a shock of cold water: understanding and remorse.

Cullen looked away in disgust, ashamed of his own behaviour. As he turned away - meaning to give himself some distance - he faltered, his eyes snagging upon a familiar face that he had not noticed before. He stood rooted to the spot, stunned; his throat closing around a moan that was trying to escape, strangling it into a pained whine. His legs gave way and he fell to his knees, as the world around him faded. His hanging mouth jarred closed with a click, but he barely felt it. Cullen reached forward, trembling, his fingers skittering fretfully across matted, blonde hair.

Solas and Alek had been kneeling over Senta, concealing her crumpled body lying in the dirt. When Cullen had knocked them aside, he was so distraught by the Inquisitor’s news that he had missed her completely. Her previous assault seemed like a bad dream and the thought that the demon could be close by had not even crossed his mind.

Glittering shards of red lyrium littered the ground where Senta lay, having shattered upon the solid earth as she fell, lifeless. The crystals had ceased their spluttering, the light in them grown still, as if the lyrium were sinister ruby glass. The grass withered into sickly patches where its power touched as it seeped away.

The mages had rearranged Senta’s body out of respect, straightening her legs and folding her hands upon her stomach as if this were some gross funeral procession – all she needed was a single white lily tucked beneath her fingers to complete the look.

Cullen shuffled closer, frightened to touch her in case she should turn to ash and be blown asunder upon the light breeze that had risen. He traced her face lightly with shaking fingers and wiped away a tear that had drizzled down her cheek. He realised with numb scorn that the tear was his own. They came freely then, cutting clear tracks through the grime layering his sullied face and bathed his lips in a bitter taste of despair. Cullen lifted her head gently, resting it lovingly on his lap, and bent over her until their foreheads touched.

And like that he wept, while the others looked on with their own heads bowed.

 

~

 

After a couple of minutes of humble silence, Cullen felt, rather than heard, the Inquisitor coax the others silently away. Their footsteps seemed a million miles away as they left him and their hushed voices rose and fell with the ebb of the droning wind. Cullen was sure that the Inquisitor was devising a plan of escape somehow, never one to accept details at their face value. There was always another way in the Inquisitor’s eyes.

Cullen grimaced, gritting his teeth against a fresh wave of misery and buried his face against Senta’s, hunching his shoulders until the fur of his cloak tickled his ears, blocking out as much as possible. What was the point in carrying on? He’d failed Senta so dramatically and he could feel the urge for lyrium needling again at the back of his throat. How could he ever forgive himself? He was so weak... All was lost!

“All is not lost,” came a new voice, ghostly and tangible, male and female, all at the same time. "There is still a way to save you."


	40. Unlikely Friends

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi readers! This is such a looooooooooooong chapter! I'm desperate to get these guys out of the Fade now, as there's still so much I want to tell, but I don't want to rush things!  
> I think things are starting to wrap up nicely, so keep with me :)  
> Love to you all xx

Cullen’s head whipped up with enough force to make his neck pop. Floating by Senta’s feet, about a metre above the ground and looking down at them both, was a humanoid figure.

Its entire body shone with a hazy pink, ethereal light, undulating like the first mists of a crisp morning. Its shape was vague, as if it couldn’t quite remember how it should look, and its hips tapered off into nothing where its legs should have been. _Legs must have been beyond it,_ Cullen thought, a little derogatorily, staring at it with wild panic in his eyes. He could see easily straight through it to the forest beyond.

It was a spirit- or a demon- Cullen was not sure which and at that point he was almost past the point of caring. Almost. Images of all the Harrowings he had attended as a Templar Knight flashed through his mind; the successful ones and, more importantly, the horrifyingly unsuccessful ones.

He wanted to be afraid, so desperately afraid, but his mind kept churning out twisted memories of Kirkwall and its circle tower overflowing with the blank and impassive faces of its Tranquil population. That was what he was now, according to the Inquisitor- one of them. A Tranquil. He just couldn’t bring himself to face the reality of it all. He knew he should have responded to that letter he received from his sister a good few months ago. All his family would have now would be an empty shell, better for nothing more than kitchen duty. He doubted his family would have an aptitude for war.

_I don’t understand,_ his mind clamoured. _I’m right here! I haven’t_ gone _anywhere! I thought only mages could be made Tranquil! What will happen to us now? Are we stuck in purgatory for all eternity?_

The spirit cocked its head thoughtfully, studying Cullen with a thorough intensity that unsettled him a great deal. It had no eyes, only eerie sockets, but Cullen got the distinct impression that it could see right through to his very soul.

Underneath the panic, his rigorous Templar training thrummed to life. From his position, with Senta pulled haphazardly across his lap, he could not move freely. In any case, he was not about to leave her now. If- whatever this thing was- decided to attack, he’d have no way to defend himself.

“I understand that you do not trust me,” it said in its weird dual voice. It held out it’s arm and a spectral hand manifested itself in a gracious peace offering. “You are in pain and in need of healing.”

Cullen instinctively held Senta closer, clutching her jealously to his chest. “Begone from here, demon! I shall not be tempted by your foul games!”

The spirit retracted its hand in apparent confusion. It looked at its fingers in baffled wonder and gave them an experimental wiggle before the hand disappeared again up to the wrist. Even the simplest details required a high level of focus it seemed.

A sudden, yet gentle, rush of air wafted Cullen’s once groomed hair and knocked a few errant strands across his forehead, as a second spirit popped into existence beside the first. This one was a cool turquoise colour, but in all other respects, it was identical. Cullen watched, feeling unmoored as his handle upon the situation diminished.

“This one will not forgive easily,” it chimed in, floating passively next to its companion. “This one holds on to its bitterness to fortify itself.”

The spirits looked at one another and tilted their heads in unison as if communicating in some way that Cullen could not hear. The pink spirit looked back at Cullen and floated forward somewhat hesitantly. The air around it sighed as it moved, as if the spirit’s presence would be sorely missed.

As it slid forward, it raised its arm and a hand appeared once more as if it were about to reach out and touch him. Cullen, appalled, shifted uncomfortably under Senta’s weight, trying desperately to draw away from the inexorable contact. His stomach roiled in sickening loops.

The spirit was a few feet from him now, oblivious to his mounting fear. Unwilling to let Senta go and with no foreseeable way out, he screwed his eyes shut and waited for the end to come.

 

~

 

Solas was fuming inside, but on the outside, a false sense of calm had fallen across his erudite features. He had no patience for fools who had no respect for ancient magical arts. There were schools of sorcery that best remain hidden and Alek, though his intentions were commendable, had stumbled across something potentially catastrophic. Not that their current situation was anything short of disastrous.

No matter how hard Solas had pushed him, Alek had refused to let on where he had come across such a spell. It would not normally worry Solas; once found, the wielder would dabble, die, and the spell would be lost to history again, but he could not shake the feeling that they were being shrewdly ‘removed’. It all seemed a little too convenient. Corypheus, being one of the most powerful magisters of old, would have knowledge of such magic.

Solas sighed heavily and crossed his arms as he, Alek and the Inquisitor stood discussing their next move. His worries would have to be put on hold until they’d liberated themselves from their present, more pressing, problem.

“What if we destroy the deceit demon that controls this area? Will that do? It’s what we came here to do, anyway,” the Inquisitor was saying. Alek was standing next to her with his hands cupped lazily behind his head, his elbows sticking out on either side. He was nodding in agreement.

“That might work,” he said, biting his lower lip in thought.

“It would not,” Solas interjected a little more harshly than he’d intended. The others looked at him with a mixture of childish hurt and mild irritation. He huffed and relaxed his stance to a less abrasive one and attempted to explain his understanding. “Deceit is a powerful foe and its death would invite bigger, stronger demons, yearning to prove their strength and prowess against its killer.”

“It would take a little while for them to arrive – by that time we could make our escape,” Alek suggested, lowering his arms and getting into the conversation.

The Inquisitor was about to push the idea when Solas shook his head and challenged, “How would we escape? Our connection beyond the Fade has been severed. The combination of my spell and yours seems to have seen to that.” Alek gritted his teeth and dropped his eyes to the ground, boring his shame into the dirt.

“Well, what do you suggest Solas?” The Inquisitor quipped, growing tired of their feud. The damage was done and now they had to move on and pick up the pieces.

Solas’ calm persona splintered for a moment and he paced in a tight circle, tracing his bald scalp with restless hands. “I- I-“ he stammered. He stopped suddenly and surrendered to his ignorance, his body slumping in resignation. “I don’t know.”

Alek scratched at his head again as an awkward silence dragged out between them, while Solas covered his face with his hands and wracked his brains for a solution. The Inquisitor ruffled her hair once more and said, “I knew I should have made time to speak with Cassandra – she had something important to tell me about the Tranquil...”

They stood in a circle, eyeing each other, completely at a loss.

The lull was shattered when a panicked yell split the tension with heart-stopping efficiency, sending them all spinning in unison towards what would prove to be their salvation.

 

~

 

_What now?_ The Inquisitor groaned inwardly, as Solas swore harshly under his breath and began sprinting in Cullen’s direction, frantically waving his arms. Alek was just as perplexed, but when the situation became clear the Inquisitor literally watched the blood drain from his face.

Cullen was sprawled on the floor with Senta’s limp body obstructing his legs. She couldn’t see clearly past Solas’ flailing arms, but he seemed to be trying to drag himself away from something. But what?

When the Inquisitor saw what was bearing down upon the general of her army, a shrill squeak flew from her throat. Summoning her sword, she took off after Solas leaving Alek standing alone, pale and dumbstruck. After a few seconds, he realised he was by himself and that a comrade was in need of help. Summoning what was left of his magic, he followed at a distance.

Solas was first on the scene and he did not stop to consider what the others might think. He could hear them approaching from behind, roaring, with their weapons drawn no less. “No, my friend!” he cried, throwing out an arm to separate the spirit from his companion. “Stay your hand!”

The spirit had crossed over Senta’s sleeping head and was reaching down towards Cullen with its fingers splayed in what looked like some kind of ritualistic sign. Despite their circumstances, Solas felt a momentary flare of curiosity before the hand disappeared as the spirit straightened, turning to meet him. The spirit’s glow gleamed brighter for a moment, as if in happiness at seeing Solas.

Solas smiled warmly at his long-time friend and heard the others scrabble to a halt behind him. He didn’t need to look to know that they were gawking at him with their mouths hanging open in an incredulous-disgusted mien.

He ignored them and, instead, broadened his smile and spread his arms wide as a token of peace. The turquoise spirit floated up behind its counterpart and flashed in greeting. They completely ignored Cullen and the others, drawn to Solas like moths to a flame.

“My friends,” he said gently, addressing them both, “I’m sorry to have left you so suddenly. I had to re-join my companions on urgent business and now… here we are.” He swept his arm behind him, indicating Cullen, Alek and the Inquisitor. He looked down at Cullen in confusion and asked, “Might I ask what you were planning to do with Commander Cullen?”

The spirits hovered together, shoulder to shoulder, and studied Solas without remorse. The light within them pulsed wildly, flowing seamlessly from one to the other as if in great excitement.

“His hatred of all things magical is strong-“ stated the pink spirit.

“-he must forgive those who have wronged him-“ chimed in the turquoise sprit.

“-if he is to heal,” finished the first.

Solas looked at Cullen sadly, still lying dejected on the floor, cradling Senta’s head in his lap. He was watching them carefully, though the immediate threat had passed. Solas turned back to the apparitions before him. “Though I’m sure Cullen appreciates your efforts-“

“What? I never-“

Solas glared at Cullen, willing him to be silent. These creatures were good natured, but fickle. They were attracted to the aftermath of danger, yet afraid to be caught in direct conflict. If his companions were to show too much aggression, he feared his spectral friends would be startled into leaving. It would take months for them to feel safe enough to seek him out once more.

Cullen fell blessedly silent, so Solas tried again. “Though I’m sure Cullen appreciates your efforts, we have more pressing matters right now…”

There was a moment of reflective silence before the pink spirit asked, “You do not wish to stay with us? Your souls are free of their earthly confines.”

“Wait- you _know?_ ” The Inquisitor demanded, pushing past Solas. She cast around at her companions seeking answers, although all the faces around her were as clueless as hers.

The spirit appraised her as if seeing her for the first time and warily backed up a few paces. Solas put a restraining hand upon her shoulder and shook his head gently when she turned to question him. Solas’ eyes said that this was his area of expertise and she knew deep down that he would be the best to handle this, so she acquiesced. “I like my earthly confines…” she muttered as she fell back grudgingly behind him.

Before Solas could speak, Cullen became suddenly animated. He rose up on his knees, supporting Senta gently upon his chest. He looked to the spirits in renewed hope, but the suspicion would not leave him, always sitting just behind his eyes. “You said that I could still be saved. You didn’t mean just me, did you?”

Solas’ head swung towards him in surprise, but he did not speak. He was extremely curious to see where this would lead and in most cases, it was best to let things run their own course.

Alek stood to the rear, completely blown away by the entire experience. Although his kind had their own mages, spirits could feel the highly unstable nature of the dragon within them and knew they were too capricious for their desires to take hold. The stronger demons were thankfully too few and far between, at least until now.

They were all waiting, motionless, for the spirits to answer. The pink spirit, who Cullen’s question had been directed towards, regarded him with a tender disposition. “I was referring to all of you, yes. You are one and the same are you not?”

Cullen blinked a few times in confusion and then just shook the question off. “I’m not sure about what you just said, but _please_ tell us how we can go home!”

The others gathered around in anticipation and the turquoise spirit came closer. “We can send you back,” it said. “All it takes is one touch.”

The others gasped in unison and the Inquisitor, realising what it all meant, rushed forwards and threw herself at the spirit, trying to touch it. Her plan failed, however, and she fell straight through to the other side. “Damn it!” She cried, falling roughly to her knees.

The turquoise spirit looked at her and flashed disapprovingly. “I will forgive you for trying to touch me,” it said flatly.

“Inquisitor!” Solas reprimanded, “It is rude to try and touch a spirit if it does not wish to be touched! It’s extremely disrespectful.”

“Well excuse me for trying to get us out of here!” She crowed, dusting herself off as she stood up.

Solas sighed in frustration and addressed his friends once more. “There is a price?” he asked, fearing that he already knew the answer.

The spirits nodded as one and the others let out a collective breath.

“What do we have to do?” Alek asked from the back of the group.

“We’ll do anything!” Cullen hissed, eager to be rid of the Fade.

The phantoms floated serenely as they contemplated the crowd of people before them, clamouring for their help. They were enjoying this immensely! Normally the souls they helped did not even know of their existence.

“We help those that are in need,” the pink one began. “We have seen the aftermath of many wars. We are drawn to them to help the lost souls forget their pain…” It stopped for a moment, surveying the destruction the red lyrium had wrought. After a moment, it continued, “The demon that rules this area has caused so much suffering…”

The turquoise spirit cut in, like a twin who knew exactly what its kin was about to say, “For the lost souls to forgive and-“

“Heal-“ the first reminded scornfully.

“- move on, it must be destroyed. The suffering must end.”

“That sounds simple enough!” The Inquisitor trilled, puffing her chest out at Solas in an ‘I-told-you-so’ manner, referring to their earlier conversation. Solas rolled his eyes, knowing his friends were never that simple to decipher. They specialised in the psyche and were always multifaceted just like their interests.

“That’s kind of what the Inquisition does, isn’t it?” Alek chortled from the back.

A sliver of hope had wheedled its way into each of their hearts, thawing the sharp icicles of panic that had been sticking in their chests. Now they had a plan and a way out, their spirits were rising.

“It’s what we do best!” The Inquisitor said, winking playfully in response.

An intense wave of heat coursed its way from Alek’s navel and disappeared into the vicinity of his pants, catching him off guard. The urge to answer with something less than appropriate was almost too strong, but he hid it well and recovered with an easy smirk. Their eyes lingered for a moment, until the Inquisitor dropped her gaze with a self-conscious chuckle.

As she turned away, Alek wondered if it was just the Fade talking, making the Inquisitor seem more fascinating, or whether this was something he should pursue. When – _if_ – they got home, he’d have to meet her in person.

The Inquisitor turned from Alek, her cheeks burning. She’d only just met the man and he was making her blush and giggle like an Orlesian noble at a summer ball. _Spare a thought for Iron Bull back home! s_ he chided. Who was she kidding? Bull would probably laugh, smack her on the behind and send her on her merry way – hell; maybe he’d even join in!

Maker she had no time for this! She promptly squashed the thought and let her muscles fall into their usual stern face. They had a tough battle ahead of them and they needed to prepare.

As she lifted her eyes to carry on with their discussion, she came upon Solas staring daggers at her. Maker, if looks could kill! She could literally feel the waves of censure drifting from him like an ocean battering the shore in a storm.

The Inquisitor was well aware of Solas’ dislike towards their guest – everyone was entitled to their own opinion – but she was growing tired of pandering to his injured pride. So, squaring her shoulders and sticking her chest out with a dignified huff, she located Cullen still kneeling on the floor with Senta’s head resting on his lap. He was looking at the spirits with fresh determination. The Inquisitor stopped suddenly in her tracks and watched him silently. He almost seemed like a new man.

“What about Senta?” he asked guardedly. “We can’t just leave her.”

The spirits floated together serenely.

“She will be safe with us,” said the turquoise spirit.

“We will take care of her,” agreed the pink.

“Andraste’s blood you will!” Cullen growled. “How do we know you won’t possess her the moment our backs are turned?”

The light in the spirits’ bodies dimmed dramatically, as if Cullen had suggested something completely abhorrent. Solas recognised immediately that the spirits were close to retreating and rushed forwards with a restraining hand held out to silence the commander. “Cullen, please! Watch your tone – they are trying to help us after all!” Cullen looked away and snorted in disgust. “You said you would do anything,” Solas reminded, growing gravely concerned.

“Yes- but-“

“This looks like our only chance,” Alek prodded, earning him a disgruntled scowl from Cullen. He raised his hands in submission and continued carefully. “Look, I don’t like this any more than you do…but Solas is right. If they meant us any harm, they would have turned on us by now. It doesn’t seem to be in their nature – I think they truly mean to help.”

Cullen looked thoughtfully at Senta’s head cradled lovingly in his lap and sighed forlornly. Solas was looking at Alek narrowly and when their eyes met, he nodded once. _You’re welcome,_ Alek thought. _You stuffy old coot._

The Inquisitor, having seen enough, stood forward and took control.

“So we go. It was our plan all along, nothing has changed. The spirits’ help is yet to be seen.” Propping her fists upon her hips, she ordered, “Ready yourselves, we move out in fifteen minutes.”

Everyone busied themselves, gathering their meagre supplies and steeling themselves for the battle to come. Cullen cupped Senta’s head in his hands and lifted her forehead tenderly to his lips. He shifted himself awkwardly from beneath her and set her down gently upon the floor. He stood and looked down at her sadly as the Inquisitor came to stand beside him.

“I don’t like this…” he said as she approached.

“No one does,” she said, not unkindly.

He looked at her with full apprehension naked upon his face. “Why won’t she wake up?” he asked, his eyes begging.

The Inquisitor merely stood gawking at him, her mouth slightly open, chewing on air. She had no idea what to say.

The spirits, emboldened by the activity around them, had approached cautiously from one side.

“The demon has stolen the essence of her human soul and the beast from within her has been sealed away. At the moment, all you see is an empty shell,” said the turquoise apparition. Cullen and the Inquisitor shared a horrified look.

“Do not fear,” the pink phantom consoled. “For when the two are reunited, she will return to you.”

“Where is this demon?” Cullen asked, his voice dangerously low and laden with hatred. The spirits pointed wordlessly towards the village entrance and beyond. Cullen and The Inquisitor nodded their cognition and continued onwards to meet with the mages. They strode with a new purpose, Cullen pulling ahead with a grim intensity, as their footsteps echoed out Deceit’s doom. He did not look back.

 

~

 

As they walked, exiting the village and passing the two giant dragon statues that Deceit had led Senta past so long ago, they kept an uneasy silence. The stone monoliths loomed out of a heavy mist that had slowly fallen as they had approached and their open mouths yawned out of the gloom like gargoyles, frightening and foreboding.

“That is not how I remember them…” Alek whispered woefully.

Cullen had kept a gruelling pace and was several feet ahead of the group. Solas had stalked off in an effort to catch up with him, so Alek and the Inquisitor were left to walk together. Alek had no idea what Solas was trying to do. Perhaps he was trying to defend his ‘friends’’ honour. It was a lost cause – that man’s hatred of magic ran too deep.

The Inquisitor looked up at the statues towering over them, as they passed beneath their crumbling visages. They looked monstrous to her, but she was curious to hear what they were truly like. Remembering the spark between them before, she was mindful of showing too much interest.

“Oh?” she said, feigning indifference.

Alek must have heard the tone of her voice, but instead chose to ignore it and began to describe how the dragons were made of the choicest marble, carved to perfection as if they were imbued with magic and about to come alive. He explained that each dragon symbolised a dragon’s power and honour and that no draconite could reside within the village without those staple qualities.

The Inquisitor scowled at the ground as she picked her steps carefully through the brush. “Lying to the Inquisition about your identity and hiding such a terrible power does not sound ‘honourable’ to me…” she said, still sore from the news.

“Inquisitor,” he said in a strong voice, causing her to stop and turn to regard him. “Senta’s intentions were honourable – she was protecting her people. Our kind has been hunted mercilessly throughout the ages and driven into exile. There are only a handful of us left.

“How was she to act? If anything, you reacted in exactly the same way as everyone else. Cage the beast!” he said, waving his arms wildly, “I’m surprised you didn’t have angry villagers poking at her with pitch forks and torches!”

“What was I supposed to do?” The Inquisitor cried, frustrated. “Accept her with open arms?”

“Yes!” Alek cried in exasperation.

“Wait- what?”

“Inquisitor, Senta believes the only way forward for us is to come out from hiding.” The Inquisitor shook her head, still not understanding. Alek grunted, vexed. “She came to the Inquisition to form a truce – to form an alliance! She needed to know she could trust you!”

The implications rushed through the Inquisitor’s mind like a thunderstorm. She already felt guilty for her rash treatment of Senta, but now she felt like a Grade A fool. Reaching out, she caressed Alek’s adamant face. He warmed to her touch immediately and held her hand to his cheek.

“We need to hurry,” she said firmly.


	41. Face to Face

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so sorry for the long waits between updates- work has been manic ever since I started my new job and I can't think when I get home, let alone write! I've just been monging in front of my tablet, consoling myself with "Let's Play" videos of Suikoden V and Persona 4! Today was the first real day I've had to really knuckle down and bash out some words, so I hope you enjoy :) thanks again for sticking with me- we're getting there! xx

Cullen was glad to have the colossal statues behind him. Their gaping mouths reminded him of the screaming monsters in his most terrifying nightmares and their sightless eyes seemed to follow his passing. He couldn’t shake the feeling that they were staring after him while his back was turned, but every time he checked behind him, they were still in the same poses as before.

He felt extremely nervous and jumpy as the fog grew thicker around him. He was utterly sick of the fade and couldn’t wait to be rid of it; eager to see Senta home safe and sound where she belonged. If this trip had taught him anything, it was that, even though they had only known each other a short while, Senta’s absence left a vast chasm in his life.

She brought laughter into his days where he knew only uncertainty and she brought out a side of him that he had thought was lost forever. He had to save her, he knew now that he had revealed her secret out of fear; a fear of loss, a fear of a repeat massacre like Kirkwall.

When he had dropped through the sky, plummeting towards certain death, she could have just let him fall, but she didn’t; she had turned back around without a second thought and had stayed right beside him, ultimately saving his life. After all that, she had risked her own life to protect the very thing that he had been trying to protect from _her_. He couldn’t feel a deeper shame and he would spend the rest of his life making it up to her if he could just get her back.

While he walked, lost in thought and fretting about their fate, he didn’t hear Solas approaching from behind and jumped a mile when he felt Solas’ hand upon his shoulder.

“I’m sorry,” Solas apologised, raising his hands in a show of amity. Cullen waived it off with an irritated flick of his hand and Solas watched him with a worried expression, concerned for his state of mind. “Are you alright? You’ve become more and more reserved since this whole ordeal began.”

Cullen kept his gaze forward, averse to the thought of idle chatter. His thoughts were his own and he was loathe to share such private notions with anyone else. Solas was still eyeing him with that infuriating fussy expression, expecting some sort of response.

Cullen cleared his throat uncomfortably and fumbled for an answer. “I… uh… it’s been a tough day…” he said weakly.

Solas’ mouth pulled into a frown, obviously unimpressed with his response. Cullen huffed irritably and opted for silence. They walked together for a while longer, unspeaking, before Solas tried again taking a new angle.

“Senta will be safe with them,” he said carefully, striking unpleasantly close to one of Cullen’s main issues.

“You mean those demons?” he asked more sharply than intended.

“They are my friends,” Solas said, defence creeping into his voice, as if that should somehow instantly alleviate all of Cullen’s misgivings. Cullen couldn’t help but scowl and Solas ground his teeth in silent frustration, trying to find another way to get past his companion’s stubborn views. “If they were demons they would have tried to possess you straight away,” he said, glancing sidelong at Cullen. “You were alone and vulnerable.”

Cullen was reeled in reluctantly, coerced into thinking about something he was trying incredibly hard to forget. Why couldn’t Solas just leave him be and just concentrate on getting Senta back? He liked Solas, but everything turned out to be a life lesson when he was around.

Through all that, he kept coming back to the spirit reaching across Senta’s unconscious body, splaying its ghostly fingers towards him, ready to touch him. What was that, if not an attempt at possession? Cullen had seen possession before and it was always violent, but that seemed… serene. It confused him a great deal.

Before he knew it, the question had popped from his mouth. “So why did it try to touch me?”

Solas blinked rapidly, not expecting the question. He was unsure of the spirit’s behaviour himself; it was something he’d never seen before in all his years of research. He pinched his bottom lip between his fingers as they picked their way through weeds and brambles. Cullen let Solas think; the silence soothing.

“I’m not sure,” Solas allowed after a moment. “I cannot imagine they were trying to hurt you – it’s not in their nature.” He flashed back to the moment the spirits pulled the evil manifestation from Senta’s body and shook his head conclusively. “No, it is not in their nature. Why pull the demon from Senta, only to possess you? It goes against their very being. Perhaps they saw something that they could change?”

Cullen stopped short, tripped by Solas’ comment. “What-?” he stammered.

“Hm?” Solas looked back at Cullen, emerging reluctantly from his thoughts.

“What did you say?”

“They saw something in you-“

“No before that! Are you saying Senta was _possessed?_ ”

Solas turned towards Cullen, giving his full attention. “Well- yes-“ His eyes widened in incredulity. “You mean to say you _didn’t know?”_

Cullen stood dumbstruck. Everything made sense now; Senta’s strange behaviour, the foreign voice and her ferocious attack. “Was that a _demon_? They pulled a demon from Senta?”

Solas nodded grimly.

“I thought that was something to do with the red lyrium…” he said, cuffing his face angrily. “How could I be so blind?” he growled, furious. _I’ve forgotten what it is to be a Templar,_ he chided himself sadly. If they got out of this, he was handing in his resignation; this whole scenario just showed how inept he was without lyrium. He couldn’t even fathom the blindingly obvious.

He faced Solas, his honey eyes burning gold with a dim rage. “Deceit?” he asked, his voice denying the hatred broiling deep inside him. Solas nodded dryly and grunted in surprise as Cullen pushed past him in a burst of energy.

“The last blow is mine!” Cullen demanded, storming off.

Solas chuckled wryly, shaking his head. Soon afterwards he followed, pushing onwards to their final showdown.

 

 

~

 

Slowly the vivid colour of the forest bled away to a pasty reflection of its former glory. The big, resilient leaves around them became black and shrivelled the further they walked, until the vast jungle stood dead and crumbling.

Suddenly, the pair unexpectedly broke through the waning treeline, stumbling into the biggest clearing yet. Ahead of them, the ground spread out into a dusty wasteland, blackened stubs of dead foliage dotted about. Red Lyrium sprouted here and there, reaching awkwardly towards the spinning breach above them. A strange sucking noise was the only sound to be heard.

Cullen’s eyes scanned across the area from the far side of the clearing and noted subconsciously that the red lyrium was growing in intensity towards the centre. When his gaze happened upon the sight amongst the greatest concentration, he drew back with a hiss, dragging Solas with him.

“Maker!” he whispered, shocked and appalled.

Solas stood beside him, both of them hidden behind a wrecked tree, eyes wide and breathing hard. He’d seen it too; it was hard to miss.

“We best wait for the Inquisitor,” Solas warned quietly. Cullen nodded, swallowing a lump that had formed in his throat. There was no argument there.

They’d arrived.

 

~

 

Back in the waking world, Bull and Dorian prepared themselves as the mass of bodies bulged grotesquely from the library door, eventually breaking under the strain, spewing a wave of flailing, makeshift weapons and battle cries towards them.

Hunkering down, they planted themselves beneath the sweeping archway of the staircase and held their weapons abreast, roaring defiantly as they caught the onslaught as it slammed into them.

A maniacal tenacity had spread through the crowd, spurring them on to perform actions far from their usually hospitable characters.

Only a few steps away, the party below slept on, the sunburst sigil prominent upon their brows.

 

~

 

“Well… shit,” the Inquisitor intoned, with a flat sense of irony. She sighed unhappily as she stared out from behind her tree at the scene in front of them.

In the centre of the clearing, the rows of red lyrium congregated together, twisting skyward from four corners to form an enormous, craggy prison. Behind their crackling boundaries, a spirit of great magnitude stood transfixed at the forefront. It shone a familiar, brilliant yellow, its wings spread, just shy of touching the sputtering edges of its prison.

“Senta…” Cullen sighed, witnessing the most intimate part of her, bare and vulnerable, right before his eyes; her soul- or at least part of it, anchoring her to life. It was remarkable, yet terrifying at the same time. He’d never been so close to such a beast and now, with its physicality and sovereignty stripped away, it was simply beautiful.

“And there’s our little problem…” the Inquisitor added, leaning upon the tree with one elbow, her fingertips tickling her temple.

Senta’s dragon spirit was stuck in place, her mouth open in a silent scream, her eyes pinpricks of striking radiance, staring down with unbridled hatred at her captor. Spidery streamlets of energy, pried from the dragon’s essence, wound their way from her body, down towards a spindly figure standing far below, arms held high in triumphant receipt. The energy was flowing freely, directly into the awaiting maw of the very demon they’d come to destroy; Deceit.

“He’s stealing Senta’s life-force!” Solas jeered, his voice dripping with contempt. “We don’t have long to come up with a plan.” At that moment, the ground shifted beneath their feet, sending shockwaves throughout the Fade. “She can’t hold on for much longer!” Pointing towards the dragon, losing strength and flagging, he urged, “If she fails, we’ll disappear with her – we need to act _now!”_

“We need to think!” The Inquisitor barked, recovering her balance as the tremors faded.

“Alright,” Cullen agreed. “What’s our next move?”

The trio huddled together to begin formulating a plan, however, no one noticed Alek hanging back, bouncing anxiously on the balls of his feet. He seemed conflicted, wanting desperately to hear what the others were discussing, but badly affected by the obvious discomfort of his closest friend. He wavered on the edge of uncertainty, leaning heavily towards joining his new companions.

He knew that it was imperative to be a part of their strategy, making sure he stood where he was supposed to, casting the right spells, supporting the team where they needed it most; so he tottered towards them, although they seemed a million miles away, shrinking away from him as he drew closer. Even as he walked, his heart roared in his ears, berating him; his friend needed his help right _now_!

As if reading his mind, a tortured roar rent the air and the ground shook treacherously beneath their feet once more. Her voice resonated inside of Alek through the connection that all dragon folk shared and his resolve cracked under the sheer anguish he felt there. He staggered forwards a few steps more when the shrillest cry of all shattered any indecision still lingering.

“Fuck this!” he choked out, pushing blindly into the clearing intent on stopping this torment at whatever cost.

“Alek- no!” The Inquisitor cried, but too late. Cursing viciously, she had no choice but to follow him into unknown territory. The others faithfully pursued their leader, hoping against hope that they’d somehow come out victorious on the other side.

 

~

 

Dust billowed around Alek’s feet as he slid to a halt on the desiccated ground before the makeshift cage. His eyes were drawn reluctantly upwards, following the towering, jagged lines of the red lyrium, twisting and cutting disjointed shapes through the air. He gulped thickly- it had looked a lot smaller before. Now, close up, it was colossal. The red crystals, crackled and glowed, vibrating with their torturous song.

Shaking away his growing doubt and through the haze of bitter desperation, he levelled his magic at the demon’s back who continued to syphon the life force from his dearest friend.

“Let her go!” he screamed, his voice pitched and panicky. He winced inside, hating the sound of it.

Finally, the endless stream of energy stopped, disintegrating into wisps of waning light before they faded altogether. The dragon spirit fell back a few paces, her head lowered in exhaustion.

Alek let out a shaky sigh of relief as the intense discomfort calmed and looked around him gratefully as the others arrived, skidding to a standstill beside him. They stood together in a rough line, weapons drawn and directed towards their foe.

He smiled sheepishly at the Inquisitor, who glared daggers at him. It was a stupid, stupid move, breaking cover like that, but what else could he have done?

She turned from him and with a clear voice that rang out through the clearing; she called to the fiend, “Give it up, demon! You’re surrounded! Your reign of terror ends _now_.”

Deceit’s spidery arms had remained raised in triumph while the energy around him dissipated. Now, he lowered them with a calm that put the Inquisitor on edge.

A light chuckle began to echo around the empty space and the group of friends glanced at each other, sharing puzzled looks. Then, Deceit burst into a gale of cackling laughter, the sound of which was high and scratchy, clawing at their ears.

Unsure of their next move, the group hunkered down, readying themselves for whatever was to come next.

His laughter quieted and he looked sidelong at them over his shoulder. They could not see his face, but the shape of it was elongated and deformed.

A collective shudder of disgust ran through them.

“I knew that would flush you out,” he said in his whiny, demonic voice. “Like _rats…”_ The last word came out in a disparaging hiss and he chuckled again.

Deceit smiled inwardly as he sensed several emotions flit across each of their faces, finally twisting into an offended scowl as realisation set in. They had played into his hands, exactly as he’d wanted and the added insult sprinkled salt on their wounds. _All the better…_ He thought secretly. Rats were the scourge of the earth, but my, they were tasty. A little seasoning wouldn’t go amiss.

The rat, whose face he had stolen not so long ago, lunged forward, stabbing the air with his sword. His blonde hair was matted with sweat and Deceit could sense the tortured soul beneath. His mouth began to water at the thought of all the bad things this human must have seen. It was glorious!

As Cullen stabbed at the air, he roared, “Enough of this! We’ve come to take Senta back and to rid the world of one more foul wretch!” He stamped his foot defiantly, sending a plume of dust flying. “Fight or die where you stand!”

The others clashed their weapons upon their armour and cheered in agreement. The dragon spirit groaned in response, roused by the vehemence in their voices. Through the cacophony, Deceit idly watched her struggle against her lack of vitality. _Yes…_ Deceit thought, pleased. _Grow stronger so that I may feast upon you and celebrate my victory…_

He turned, ever so slowly, towards the clamouring rats, facing them fully. They stopped their pounding when they set eyes upon his face, stepping back involuntarily in horror. The worm-like façade and gaping maw, bursting with long, razor-like teeth was enough to cause a momentary lapse. They knew nothing of horror, Deceit decided, and so he was going to teach them.

Taking advantage of the sudden quiet, he stepped forward lightly, his robe swishing against the floor. “For too long have you been scuttling about my domain,” he said, his teeth clacking together as his maw undulated grotesquely. “For too long have you thwarted my fun...” His bony, elongated fingers, tipped with monstrous claws, latched onto a swatch of his robe about his sunken chest as he walked. The rats watched him carefully, taking a step back each time he advanced further, keeping him in full view. The dragon spirit moaned disconsolately behind him, making his face draw into a ghastly smile.

“He’s blind!” The Inquisitor shouted, noticing the thinly veiled sockets of his eyes as he drew closer. “We can use that to our advantage!”

Before the group could arrange themselves, Deceit cackled madly, still clutching at his robe. “ _I_ do not need to _see_!” He cawed jubilantly, as their attention was drawn again to his robe. “I have a hundred eyes to see for me!”

Before they could make sense of his ramblings, the demon tugged viciously at his robe, tearing it from his body. It billowed outwards as he flung it from him and landed forgotten at his feet.

His legs were but bones, void of any sustenance and his skin had peeled and fallen away to reveal grey muscle beneath. His hips stuck out haphazardly and where a waist should have been was only an exposed spine, partly obscured by flaps of skin and tendon. His ribs stuck out grossly, but that was not what had the party gagging from sheer revulsion.

Upon his chest, hundreds of faces protruded, horrifically disfigured and sagging, ranging from men and women to even children. Their eyes were closed, thankfully, as if in slumber. That was some small mercy; Deceit was truly a monster.

Before the team could react, the most horrifying thing they had ever seen happened. The eyes of each face blinked open blearily, blinded by the light of the rift spinning above them. When they came fully awake and once again realised their state of being, each and every one began to wail shrill, heart-rending screams.


	42. Demise

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's 2.30 in the morning and I'm tired! Enjoy peeps - and good night! ;)
> 
> xx

The battle began in earnest as the last trailing notes of the miscreations’ cries faded into eerie silence. Deceit surged forwards suddenly, his movements strong considering his visage, sweeping his scythe-like claws up in a deadly arc. The attack went wide, slicing through the air straight down the centre of the group, sending the party scrabbling in two separate directions.

Taken by surprise, Cullen and Solas split to the left, while Alek and the Inquisitor feinted right; both pairs trying desperately to evaluate their foe. Deceit prowled around in a lazy circle, keeping the former duo in his sights, having successfully separated the party.

Solas’ mind worked quickly and he shot out a rapid spell, summoning several vines that sprouted from the ground and wound themselves feverishly around Deceit’s beastly feet. They twisted and turned, covering his lower body in a layer of thick brambles until he was effectively held in place.

Taking advantage, the Inquisitor charged from the side, her massive sword held aloft. Before she could land her strike, a shrill screech cut through her head and her blow was easily deflected by Deceit’s massive claws. Staggering backwards, the vibrations still ricocheting up her arms, she spied several eyes staring at her with wild terror, their mouths opening and closing like dying fish. She fell back again, deeply disturbed.

Alek had positioned himself on the far side of Deceit, readying a spell while the demon was preoccupied with the Inquisitor. Linking his thumbs together and shoving his palms forward, a funnel of roaring flame erupted forth towards the monster’s exposed flank.

Before the flames could reach him, a second piercing shriek echoed throughout the clearing and the fire petered out harmlessly on an invisible barrier that Deceit had summoned in response. Alek stood routed to the spot in disgust as several pairs of eyes rolled in their sockets in his direction.

“We can’t get close!” The Inquisitor cried in exasperation. “Those faces are tracking our every move!”

Deceit laughed easily and, bending his head towards his knees, he opened his great mouth and breathed upon the vines now reaching towards his ribs. They froze in place immediately and fell from his legs, cracked and petrified upon the ground where they broke apart and blew asunder in clouds of dust.

He continued to lazily stalk after his prey, his ghastly claws held out at his sides, twitching in anticipation.

Cullen watched Deceit carefully as he approached. Testing the balance of his sword, spinning it this way and that, he held his shield close to his body and prepared to meet the demon head on. The others circled anxiously, unable to get closer, racking their brains for a plan of attack.

The blows came quick and fast, squealing sickeningly as Deceit’s talons tore across his shield. The demon battered him relentlessly, leaving no room for an opening. All Cullen could do was keep his shield raised as the blows rained down, the shock of each strike rattling his teeth. Try as he may to resist, he couldn’t hold out and was driven mercilessly to his knees.

Deceit cried out in a ruthless caw of glee, raising his hand to deliver the final blow. Cullen watched helplessly as the claws rose further and further, his doom certain. Sweat beaded upon his brow and slipped unnoticed down the bridge of his nose.

The final blow never came.

Instead, a belligerent light engulfed Deceit, encompassing him in a hellish glow. His head flew backwards and he shrieked in pain, his arms thrown back as he rocked forwards.

In that moment, Cullen caught sight of Alek over Deceit’s shoulder, the last remnants of his fireball spell flickering up his arms. Without hesitation, Cullen launched himself up from his kneeling position with a blood-curdling bellow and swung his sword in a spiteful swipe, right across Deceit’s unprotected chest. The bulging eyes and cavernous mouths disappeared into an abysmal gash, spraying a mist of diseased blood into the air. Deceit cried out in anguish and fell back, his chest laid open, his back scorched and oozing.

Solas, with his magic waning, summoned forth a great glacier of ice that raced across the ground and froze Deceit’s legs where he stood. Alek beat his wings, sending plumes of dirt soaring as he took off towards the demon.

The Inquisitor ran before him, her arm extended. Grabbing hold of the Inquisitor as he passed, using his forward momentum as a weapon, he sent her careering towards Deceit with her great sword held out before her like a javelin. The Inquisitor collided spectacularly with the demon, forcing her sword deep into his chest and out the other side. Like a pro acrobat, the Inquisitor flipped over the demon’s head and alighted on the ground unscathed.

The ice melted away from Deceit’s legs, the duration of the spell coming to an end, and Deceit faded with it, falling forward onto his knees. The sword protruded awkwardly and jiggled about as his body jolted. The quartet shared jubilant looks, believing the fight was over. Alek winked at Cullen with a sly grin on his face and said, “No freaky faces on his back! While he was fixated on you, he didn’t see me sneaking up from behind.” Cullen responded with a boyish grin and slapped Alek gratefully on the back.

Their premature joy was dashed as Deceit shifted and groaned, feeling groggily for the sword sticking out from his body. His claws grasped for the hilt, growing in strength as they found their target. With a mighty tug, he ripped the sword from his chest, grunting with exertion. As he stood slowly, he cast the sword aside where it clattered to the ground with a definitive clang.

“You’re fucking joking!” Alek exclaimed in a childish whine. The others merely stood by, their mouths agape in bewilderment.

Now that the stolen faces were a bloodied mess, unseeing and silent, Deceit had nowhere to turn. Enraged, hurting and completely blind, he lashed out with all his strength, screeching his hatred at his assailants. In a last effort to wipe these rats from existence, he summoned all his magical power and let it wreak havoc in any way it wished.

Great fronds of red lyrium sprung from the earth all around and magical glyphs appeared across the battlefield that exploded into formidable bursts of energy. The party could only duck and dodge, fighting for their lives with every step.

 

~

 

Among the chaos, the dragon spirit watched on, her strength almost recovered.

Throughout the fight, a strange feeling had prickled her chest as she watched them risk their lives for her, swelling into an immeasurable wave of appreciation as the battle turned in their favour. It was a completely foreign phenomenon to her usual, crude instincts.

The little intricacies such as gratitude and compassion belonged strictly to her human counterpart; ever present, whispering reminders of calm and restraint.

Now, however, that part of her was almost lost.

She could still feel her human presence, though extremely weak, in a sort of purgatory. She was in the beyond close to death, yet denied passage, tethered to the primal beast yet living.

As the conflict deteriorated and the creatures scattered from Deceit’s final barrage, she couldn’t keep her eyes from the blonde man. She paced her cage, keeping step with him as he dodged and rolled.

There was something about him that she could sense in her primitive mind each time their eyes met, when he snuck a quick glance at her through the carnage.

It was an intense feeling that she could not make sense of, but it drew her undeniably to him.

Although she did not understand what she was experiencing, her instincts told her that she could not allow this demon to win, lest she, her human self and this overwhelming feeling be lost to the beyond forever.

She could wait no longer; now was the time to act.

Fixing her sights upon the man with molten wings - the one she knew and loved dearly - she called out to him with a mighty roar that shook the air.

 

~

 

Alek stopped short, having dodged an explosion which had come dangerously close to tearing off his leg. He stood transfixed as the world disintegrated around him in slow motion, staring directly at the soul who had hailed him.

She bellowed again, shaking him from his reverie, sending her commands across the battlefield in a language that only he could understand.

Powerless to his Alpha’s demands, he hurried to do her bidding.

Cullen watched shrewdly as Alek thread his way through Deceit’s tyranny in the direction of the dragon’s mighty cage.

His magic spent from his last attempt, Alek grabbed a sizeable piece of rock that had been blown loose from the ground and began battering away at the red lyrium that served as one of the cage’s main supports.

The dragon seemed to be goading him on somehow, skipping backwards and forwards within the confined space.

Cullen realised immediately what Alek was trying to do and rushed to an adjacent beam to offer his help. Without delay, he began hacking at the red lyrium with his sword, ignoring the increasingly incessant song vibrating in his head.

From the corner of his eye, he caught sight of the dragon and marvelled secretly at their proximity. She seemed to be watching him carefully with a mysterious intelligence.

Sharpening his concentration on the task ahead, he doubled his efforts and continued to chop away with remarkable diligence.

The other companions soon followed, each taking their own beam and beating upon it with their weapons, not knowing their goal but trusting in their friends all the same.

Deceit carried on raining destruction down upon his domain, blinded by rage to all around him. The dragon spirit watched on as her prison began to weaken, holding Deceit in her sights, brimming with hatred.

With a collective sigh, the cage began to crumble as each support shuddered and faltered. Sensing that freedom was near, the dragon spirit bunched her legs beneath her.

When the spidery branches of her cage finally shattered, she sprang upwards with an exultant shout, sending shards of lyrium spiralling everywhere. Cullen, Alek, Solas and the Inquisitor craned their necks to follow her progress.

Taking to the air, she soared gracefully skyward until the ground was a mere memory. Banking around easily, she centred in on Deceit, still sending his magic out in uncontrollable waves. His head was turned upwards and his great mouth was opened wide.

Allowing her body to fall graciously, she sailed towards Deceit’s open mouth, gaining speed with every second.

If he wanted her, he could have her – _all_ of her.

In a matter of seconds, Senta’s dragon spirit struck Deceit’s open mouth and disappeared entirely down his gullet in a rush of golden light. All at once, the onslaught stopped short and the demon staggered a few steps, clutching at his throat, gagging and choking.

A prick of light began to show between Deceit’s ribs, growing in intensity. After a moment, rays of blinding light swelled from every opening and an ominous hum vibrated through the air.

With a piercing scream, Deceit exploded in a rush of golden energy. Chunks of contaminated flesh burst outwards, fragmenting into wispy shapes, like ravens, fluttering off into oblivion with a gratified sigh.

With no bodies of their own to return to, the trapped souls within Deceit could now finally know rest in the beyond.

As the silence rang out and the dust settled, the four companions slowly gathered at the base of the fallen lyrium cage to watch the spectacular light show. The red crystals around them spluttered and went dark, now no more than benign glass.

After all the released spirits had departed, only one larger ball of energy remained in front of their unbelieving eyes.

As they approached, cautious and weary, the ball formed into the shape of a dragon once more.

“How…” the Inquisitor asked, in awe.

A voice behind them caused the group to turn in unison.

“It is not yet her time.”

The spirits Healing and Forgiveness approached from the gloom, carrying Senta’s limp body between them.

 

~

 

Exhausted, ragged and bedraggled, the quartet received the spirits with weary resignation. “Is it really over?” The Inquisitor asked hopefully. The spirits nodded their heads and the party seemed to sag in relief.

As the spirits lowered Senta’s body to the ground, Cullen rushed forward to assist them, taking her weight in his arms.

 “Do not look to her body, for it is merely a shell,” Healing said gently. Gesturing to the dragon before them, he added, “Here is the true self.”

Cullen shuffled uncomfortably and could not raise his eyes any higher than the dragon’s feet. Now that the danger had passed, it seemed disrespectful to look directly at her. It was her soul after all; a sacred thing. Instead, he humbly bowed his head in her direction.

The dragon stood serenely at a respectful distance, ignoring everyone, transfixed on Senta’s body; as if waiting for something.

“Part of her, anyway,” intoned Alek with a resigned sigh.

Forgiveness bobbed his turquoise head in accord.

Solas stepped forward, his battered face grim. “My friends- do what you have come to do.”

Forgiveness turned to his long-time friend and bowed deeply. “Of course. You have already grossly overstayed your welcome here. We shall not keep you.”

The group watched silently as the spirits arranged Senta’s body flat on her back with her arms held out beside her, palms facing upwards. The dragon spirit shifted restlessly in anticipation.

While they looked on with growing interest, Healing approached until he was hovering directly over Senta’s body. Conjuring a hand, he made the same ritualistic sign with his fingers and placed his fingertips upon her forehead.

Cullen moved forwards, uneasy, but was held back by a firm hand from Solas. He shot Solas a reproachful look, but held off all the same.

Healing was muttering something in a language no one had ever heard before and Senta’s dragon spirit was listening intently, enraptured. After a moment, Healings fingertips began to glow and some sort of energy seemed to transfer into Senta’s body.

Releasing his touch, Healing beckoned the dragon spirit.

The group backed up a few paces as the dragon approached Senta’s body. She reached her long neck forwards and, with the lightest touch, rested the tip of her snout on Senta’s forehead. Immediately, the spirit broke apart into a thousand fragments and enveloped Senta in a blinding cloud, dissolving into her skin.

Healing muttered a few more words and then cut the air with his hand. Turning to the gathering, he said, “It is done.”

Cullen dropped to his knees and took hold of Senta’s hand in his calloused ones. He watched her eyes for any sign of life and saw none. “When will she wake?” he asked, impatience tightening his voice.

Forgiveness floated forwards, holding his arms out before him in peace. “Soon,” he said, “but for now, it is time for all of you to go home.”

“Wait- what-“ Cullen asked as Forgiveness approached Alek, who was closest. Cullen watched warily, his mouth refusing to form words.

Alek looked at peace as Forgiveness approached and floated before him. He just didn’t feel as if there was any need to fight anymore. It was a curious sensation. He gave a tired smile as Forgiveness held his arms out to him. Healing joined his companion’s side and they both appraised Alek with a holy air.

“There can be no healing without forgiveness,” Healing chanted.

“Dark magic is to be respected,” Forgiveness chimed. “But it led you here and the demon is destroyed. Senta is safe. Do you forgive yourself?”

“I –“ Alek began, confused, and then a blissful realisation spread across his face. “I do.”

Both spirits nodded in unison. Joining their hands, they seemed to become one and shone like a beautiful white beacon. Both spirits made the same ceremonial sign and touched Alek’s forehead in unity. The sign of the Sunburst sigil glowed bright white against his head and as it faded, so too did Alek.

The group watched on in shock, too baffled to be alarmed. A magic was in the air, keeping them all in a calm state of wonder. Only Solas seemed to be mildly affected.

Next, the spirits approached the Inquisitor, who looked only slightly perturbed by their presence.

“There can be no healing without forgiveness,” Healing chanted once again.

“The disaster has been averted and the Inquisition is safe once more. What has been taken cannot be replaced; however, a certain someone has earned the right for forgiveness. Do you not agree?”

The Inquisitor eyed Senta’s body lying peacefully on the ground and nodded decisively. “I do.”

In the same fashion as before, Healing and Forgiveness joined forces and sent the Inquisitor back to the waking world with the Sunburst sigil fading from her skin.

Next, the spirits moved to Cullen, but instead of their previous mantra, they both studied him gently. He felt calm and ready to accept whatever they had to say, although his mind rebelled against it.

“You cannot heal alone,” Healing said; pity obvious in his tone. “Your hurt is far too deep.”

“With her forgiveness comes your salvation,” Forgiveness added cryptically. Without waiting for a response, the two spirits sent Cullen back to the waking world without another word.

They turned expectantly towards Solas, who approached them with a guilty smile playing upon his lips. Healing sighed, frustrated. “I suppose we cannot try to dissuade you from this folly?”

“You still will not allow yourself the right of peace? No one was to blame for those series of events,” chided Forgiveness.

Solas shook his head with a wry smile. “There is still much I must do. Please.”

The pair of spirits shook their heads sadly, but acquiesced all the same.

“Dareth shiral,” they murmured together as they sent Solas off to join the rest.

Now, they were alone with Senta, still lying on the floor. Her soul was complete, but they were not done with her yet. She lay suspended in the Fade, in a dream within a dream.

Floating down until their faces were mere centimetres away from hers, they stroked away her sweaty hair and whispered into her ear.

They spoke of a new power that they would awake within her, as a boon for her bravery; but to access this power, she would have to first let go of all her misgivings.

They explained to her that she would hold some of their gift within her and when she returned to the waking world, she was to confront Cullen while he was deeply asleep and absolve him of all guilt, touching his forehead like they were about to show her. She would have to understand, by herself, why Cullen warranted her forgiveness for his treachery.

If the feelings of forgiveness were true, their power would leave her and enter Cullen instead, healing his body of the Lyrium withdrawal and healing his mind of his hatred for magic. Her boon would be released in its place.

They were quietly confident that she would be true to herself.

With a final stroke of her hair, Senta faded from the dream world and finally returned to the world of the living with a flash of blinding white light.


	43. Short-Lived

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Again! It's 4am!! I seem to get my inspiration at crazy times!! xx

Cullen woke with a start, finding himself staring up at the rafters of the rectory far above. The floor was cold and unforgiving beneath him and his muscles felt stiff and slow to respond. His forehead ached right between the eyes and he rubbed absently at it with groggy fingers.

Somewhere close by, some sort of commotion had broken out, but at that moment it seemed a million miles away to him. It was as if he’d just woken up from a crazy dream.

All around him, his companions began to stir. In seconds, as he heard them come to, the entire series of events rushed through his mind in a blinding salvo of flashbacks. His eyes flew open with a single thought on his mind, _Senta!_

Lurching upright, he almost knocked himself out again on the table Senta was lying on. Righting himself, he pulled his body level with Senta, searching desperately for signs of life. His heart sank with every detail.

Nothing at all had changed.

As the commotion upstairs drew nearer, he pulled Senta’s face to his own and let his tears fall.

“What the hell is going on?” He heard the Inquisitor yell, as The Iron Bull came tumbling down the staircase, landing in a crumpled heap at the base. Thundering footsteps echoed throughout the empty space, gaining with menacing intent. Cullen blanked everything out and concentrated solely on how Senta felt to him at that moment.

Without warning, Cullen was thrown backwards, landing painfully on his tail bone with a shout of surprise. Senta lay exactly where she had been, unmoving. Ignoring the tumult around him, Cullen picked himself up gingerly and picked his way warily back towards her.

He’d only taken a few steps when Senta’s skin began to shine, as if a flame had been lit from the inside. He stopped in his tracks, watching in wonderment, as the light intensified, creeping throughout her body like some divine inspiration; seeking something.

When the light struck a prong of red lyrium, it writhed and gathered around it with an impressive tenacity, building with dazzling intensity. It seemed to morph into something physical, pushing against the crystal; expelling it like a priest exorcising a demon.

Cullen covered his mouth, feeling nauseated, as he watched the light marshal behind the red lyrium, working the sickness from her body. The minerals tinkled sporadically as they hit the floor, dark and innocuous, leaving ugly, gaping wounds in their place.

As the last spike of red lyrium withered away, the radiance dwindled and faded all together. Everyone stood motionless, looking about in bewilderment, as if emerging from a nasty nightmare.

Drawing alongside Senta, placing a gentle hand against her forehead, he couldn’t dare to hope. Eyeing her anxiously he waited with baited breath.

 

~

 

My eyes flickered open reluctantly, feeling extraordinarily heavy. The room around me gradually came in to focus, the torchlight flickering on the walls bathing me in a warm, inviting light.

Was this another trick of the Fade? If so, it was the most realistic trick yet. Everything was perfect; each line was too defined and each object held an undeniable presence.

I squeezed my eyes shut tight and opened them again warily, letting them roam freely. Everything was still the same.

I tried to recall the endless line of souls departing to the world beyond, where I was cruelly held, unable to follow after them and cut off from the Fade. I expected them to manifest before me at a single thought, just like everything else in that maker-forsaken place.

Nothing happened.

Instead, the unlikeliest face appeared before me, eyes bloodshot, with tears cutting clear tracks down their cheeks.

“Cullen…” I rasped, my throat parched and ropy.

He smiled at me through a sob and touched my face as if he couldn’t believe I was there.

And, I was, I really was.

I could feel his fingers against my skin, rough, but kind and as I covered his hand with my own, they remained there, firm and irrefutable.

I squinted at him, studying his face; ignoring the rest of the world around me. His bruised and battered face was the only thing that mattered to me in that moment. I honestly thought I’d never see that ruggedly handsome mug again. But I wasn’t about to let on that easily.

Lifting my hand to trace the lines of his temple, wincing at the sharp pains that pinged through me, my voice caught in my throat as I said, “You look like crap.”

He laughed aloud and held me close, resting his forehead against mine. The next minute, he was looking around, beaming at people I hadn’t realised were there. Solas and the Inquisitor appeared, clapping Cullen on the back, rejoicing.

A hubbub broke out beyond my field of vision and Solas and the Inquisitor were shoved tersely aside. It was the Surgeon and she quickly busied herself checking me over, humming and making stern noises at the extent of my injuries.

“Enough now – she needs rest,” she declared, turning to the others and ushering them away. Cullen ducked around her, glued to my side.

“What about us?” came Dorian’s resentful voice. He stepped forward, supporting Bull with his meaty arm slung around Dorian’s shoulder. Bull was sporting a shiny black eye and several cuts dotted Dorian’s perfect skin. “You really did a number on us, busting down that door!”

“You did _what?”_ The Inquisitor cried.

The Surgeon bustled around awkwardly, ignoring their accusing glares. “You– you– you!” She ordered her subordinates, who had been caught up in the incursion and were now standing around, gawking. “Grab that stretcher over there and bring it here! We’re taking this poor girl back to the infirmary.”

I allowed them to manhandle me, too tired to protest, and sighed drowsily as the stretcher cradled my body. The hurt was slowly making itself known.

The Surgeon hustled us out the door without looking back, with Cullen following close behind. He shot the Inquisitor an apologetic glance over his shoulder and she nodded her understanding with a wry smile.

When we were gone, she was left with two cantankerous men and a ransacked library to renovate. For the Inquisitor, the fun never ends, apparently.

 

 ~

 

Days had gone by, the hours passing slowly. Today, darkness had long since fallen on the infirmary. Cullen had stayed with me, never leaving my side and fussed over me constantly. It was really very sweet.

My many wounds had been stitched and bandaged and the elfroot potion the Surgeon had given me was coursing through my blood, numbing my pain.

They had offered to heal me with magic, but I had refused with an almost panicky resolve. No one was going come near me with magic while these memories of a certain demon still lingered.

With Cullen’s past experience with magic, he had backed me up whole-heartedly and, luckily, the Surgeon had not wanted to push the issue.

Now, Cullen sang my favourite song to me – The Dawn Will Come - ever so softly, so as not to wake the other patients. My eyes were closed, listening to his charming vocals.

Out of the darkness, the Surgeon’s uncertain voice drifted towards us, “Cullen- Senta needs her rest.” Cullen’s song stopped abruptly and he stood quickly, turning towards her. He was clearly tired, too; dark bags hung under his eyes and his face looked drawn. “You also need your rest, sir,” she added. “Especially as you’re marching to Adamant Fortress first thing in the morning.”

That was true; preparations had already been fully underway before the dragon attack, which seemed like months ago. In reality, the conflict had only delayed them by a few days and their trip into the fade had taken a little over an hour. Experiencing it first-hand had seemed a whole lot longer.

He opened his mouth, fully intending to argue.

“She’s right, Cullen,” I said, cutting him off, lifting myself up in bed. “You look exhausted.”

“I’m fine,” he said curtly; perhaps a little too much so. Realising his tone, he ran an agitated hand through his hair, adding to his already dishevelled look. Regarding me self-consciously, he stammered, “I- I don’t want to leave you.”

I smiled at him warmly and held my hand out to him. He laced his fingers with mine and sighed, sitting down again on the stool beside me. “If you want to stay close to me,” I said, “you can stay in my room above the chantry”

At that, he looked at me with his eyebrows raised. I could understand his surprise; throughout my time at the Inquisition, my room had been strictly off limits to everyone. Considering the eccentric noble characters that stayed regularly in the rooms adjacent to mine, and their rules of privacy, it had never really been questioned.

Now that my secret was out, there was no need to fear what people would find inside.

“Are you sure?” he asked, his face contorting into a frown. He clearly didn’t like being away from me for any given time, but he knew he needed to be in a fit condition to lead a march into battle.

Being so near to me through my personal possessions also seemed to hold some sort of appeal, though, and when I nodded, he quickly let his doubts slide.

Standing with a weary sigh, he leaned over me and kissed me tenderly on the forehead. I lifted my face slightly, pressing into his kiss.

Withdrawing, he smiled at me a little jaded and allowed the Surgeon to guide him away. Before leaving the room, the Surgeon checked her patients over her shoulder once more. I lay back in my cot, preparing to sleep.

Smiling, satisfied, she withdrew and the door clicked gently closed behind her.

In the dark silence of the infirmary, I lay wide awake; waiting. I had no intention of sleeping that night.

 

~

 

After a quick trip to the Inquisition seneschal, Cullen hesitated momentarily outside Senta’s room. He held her door key lightly in one hand, and a lantern in the other, debating internally whether he should actually be doing this. Eventually, fatigue won out and he inserted the key into the door’s iron lock.

It turned easily in his hand and the lock gave way with a definitive snap.

He pushed the door to and slipped through quickly before doubt could creep in and change his mind again.

He didn’t hear the door close behind him.

In the gentle glow of his lamp, a curious sight greeted him. Knick-knacks of every kind littered the room, from jewellery to small figurines carved from animal bones. He stepped further into the room, his lantern held aloft, enchanted by the small space.

_Looks like dragons really do collect treasure…_ he thought with a small snort.

To his immediate left stood a sturdy writing desk, where the book that started this whole mess sat innocently. It looked like the Inquisitor had had Leliana return it. If anyone could have done it with complete discretion, it would have been her.

He thumbed the dragon-hide cover with a forlorn smile and then, placing the door key upon the table, he opened it, letting the book fall open upon a random page.

Hand drawn images of different kinds of dragons stared up at him with annotations beside each one. He scanned them quickly and was surprised all over again when he was reminded that the notes detailed what each dragon’s role was in their society. It blew him away every time he thought of it.

Too tired to get suckered into some light bedtime reading, he left the book where it was and turned his attention to the rest of the room.

Across the way, a tree had broken through the brick wall and had grown large and wild. The surrounding stone had long since fallen away, leaving gaping holes that allowed a brisk draught into the room.

Cullen remembered he had offered to have this removed, when she had first come, and the wall repaired; yet she had refused, adamant that it reminded her of home. _Crazy woman…_ he thought now, lovingly, and pulled his cloak closer about his shoulders.

Cullen noticed that the bed that had once stood in this room had been dismantled and removed. “Great…” he said aloud. “Now where do I sleep?”

He looked about the room some more and noticed a large pile of luxurious-looking pillows piled in one corner beside a large wooden statue. He walked over to the pile and looked at it sceptically. The pillows had been arranged into some sort of ‘nest’.

“Huh… looks like this is it,” he murmured to himself.

He eyed the statue cautiously and swallowed thickly. It was a massive sculpture, having seemingly been carved directly from a tree trunk, in the shape of two dragons intertwined in a very intimate way.

Despite their position, the workmanship was truly amazing.

The dragon heads were smooth in places, as if they had been palmed many times in adoration.

At the base was carved this message:

 

‘May you one day find True Love.

            Yours forever, Alek’

 

Cullen threw his head back and groaned. Of course it would be him! Though he didn’t realise Alek had such an aptitude for the fine arts. He couldn’t begrudge him that.

As he turned away from the sculpture, the light of his lamp glinted off of something shiny hanging from one dragon’s neck. Taking a closer look, he lifted the object from its hiding place and inspected it diligently.

It was more dragon memorabilia; this time, a talisman, bound to a heavy silver chain.

A grand dragon cast of pure silver curled full circle, the tip of its tail brushing against its sweeping neck. Its wings were held close to its body, following the circulator of the design.

Its head and feet turned inwards, its open muzzle and reaching talons grasping a massive red jewel. If Cullen had to guess, he would have thought the gemstone to be ‘Bloodstone’ ore, but cut and polished to an incredible shine.

He turned it this way and that, watching it glint in the low light. He turned it over fully to find a solid silver back with a strange inscription carved upon it:

 

‘Vera Virtus Est In Potentia’

 

Cullen was an educated man, but he had no clue what it could possibly mean. Taking the talisman, he sat down upon the pillows, momentarily surprised by their comfort.

Lying backwards, he studied the inscription, cocooned by the softness of the pillows around him.

After a while, his eyes began to droop and he eventually fell into a deep sleep, his hand falling lax against the floor with the talisman lying forgotten against his palm.

 

~

 

While in the Fade, Deceit had shown me some very disturbing things.

No matter how hard I tried to forget, I couldn’t shake the images of my village burning, with its children lying massacred. The dragons caged, force-fed red lyrium and corrupted from the inside out, made slaves to Corypheus’ will.

I just couldn’t sit back, believing it was some kind of trick, while my wounds healed. What if it was real and they were truly in danger?

Having left the Fade, it was still difficult for me to discern reality from imagination. I just couldn’t – _wouldn’t_ – take the risk.

I couldn’t sleep and I’d be damned if the Fade would have me again anytime soon. Even if that meant keeping myself awake. I hadn’t truly slept in days; only sneaking snippets here and there, afraid to close my eyes.

Cullen’s presence had helped, but I could not allow myself to rely on him.

Having waited as long as I could, I was convinced that everyone was asleep.

Lifting myself up and edging myself gingerly to the side of my bed, I stood up, wincing at the pinching pain as my stitches pulled and twisted. _Nice and slow…_ I reminded myself.

After bracing myself, I hobbled to the exit and voluntarily discharged myself from the medical facility.

The cold air struck me like a glorious breath of fresh air, burning my nose and throat, making my eyes water. I stood for a full two minutes, just breathing that air in, revelling in the invigoration that it brought.

Shaking myself, I pushed on towards the stairwell close by that led to the battlements above. The going was tough, but I made it.

A couple of guards on night duty were patrolling the battlements past the Templar’s Quarters. I didn’t want to be seen, so I waited for them to stop on the wide pathway looking out over the courtyard and slipped by them quietly, while their backs were turned.

Luckily their patrol took them in the opposite direction to where I was heading.

After several more feet, I came across a wall that dropped down directly above my room. I knew Cullen was sleeping inside. I couldn’t remember exactly why, but I had to see him just once more.

Bracing myself, I flapped my wings awkwardly, taken by surprise at the pain it caused me. I half flapped, half fell, onto the walkway below, yanking dangerously on my injuries. I knelt on the floor, curled up in agony, gritting my teeth against a scream that threatened to burst forth.

Probing gently at the big rip in my side, I pulled my hand free, searching for blood. Luckily there was none – my stitches had held - but I had to be more careful!

Standing carefully, half blinded by pain, I felt for the door handle to my room.

I found it and pushed gently. The door opened easily. I smiled lightly, grateful for Cullen’s love and trust. I hoped vaguely that he’d forgive me for what I was planning to do.

Inside, Cullen’s snores wafted up from the direction of my bed. I could see the shape of his body curled in a foetal position among the mass of pillows. I hobbled across to him, ignoring everything else in the room. None of it was important to me now.

As I saw his hand laid out across the floor and the object that sat within his palm, I stopped short. It had been another gift from Alek, aside from the garish statue that he insisted I take with me. Sneaking that into this room had _not_ been easy! As grotesque as it was, I loved it anyway. It was so… _Alek_.

The talisman in Cullen’s hand was a direct reminder of home. Alek had given it to me to keep close to my heart. I was to wear it always so that my kin remained eternally.

I had taken it off that fateful day to train. It was a heavy thing and I couldn’t abide it flapping about in my armour as I flew. It had remained on the statue’s neck until now.

_That isn’t important now…_ I reminded myself sternly.

Crouching beside Cullen, I watched him for a moment as he slept. I couldn’t remember who had told me, but I knew I was to forgive him. As much as my heart wanted to, my mind rebelled at the thought. All my suffering, all my pain, was partly his fault. A sudden, fierce anger took hold of me then and I turned to leave.

As I reached the door, I heard Cullen whimper behind me. I’d never heard such a pitiful sound. I wavered, my hand held out to take hold of the handle, shaking lightly.

“No…” he moaned. “ _Leave me!_ ”

I turned suddenly, convinced he had awoken, but when I looked properly, he was still sleeping.

He was having a nightmare.

Overtaken by curiosity, I shuffled closer. All of a sudden, Cullen lashed out screaming, making me jerk back, tugging my stitches painfully. Ignoring my pain, I rushed to his side and firmly took hold of his hand. He quietened, but did not wake. His sleep was heavy.

He was sweating profoundly and it stank of sickness. I didn’t need the dragon’s keen senses to tell that.

Without truly understanding what I was doing, I held my hand out in front of me and bent my fingers into a sign that I had no recollection of seeing before. Instantly knowing what to do, I laid my fingers across Cullen’s forehead, between his brows.

Nothing happened.

Cullen began to writhe again, this time worse than before. Disturbed and extremely upset at seeing him in such a state, I slammed my fingers against his forehead once more and cried, “I forgive you, okay!? Dammit, I forgive you!”

With my admission, a searing white light burst forth from my body, collecting at my fingertips where they connected with Cullen’s skin.

No matter how I tried, I couldn’t remove my fingers from Cullen’s head. Some force had glued them there.

After a minute of intense force building between us, the connection broke, sending me careering backwards into my desk. Unaware of the throbbing in my ribs, I yanked my head up to look at Cullen. The light was still there, barely, the last of it absorbing into his skin.

I rushed back over to him, convinced that I’d killed him.

Like some miracle, the fever had all but dried up and his face looked peaceful, like a child’s. His nightmare had passed and his sleep had deepened even further, no longer fitful.

I cast about unsure of myself. I had to leave – I’d caused too much commotion here. My eyes fell again to the talisman. In all his thrashing, the heavy chain had wound around his wrist. My heart softened at that and I was able to slow my panicking thoughts.

Leaving his side for a moment, I went to my desk. I looked momentarily at the open book there, but then ignored it completely. Sifting through the trinkets, given to me in commemoration of becoming Alpha, I eventually found a blank piece of paper and a quill.

Dipping the quill quickly into the inkwell set in my desk, I scrawled out a hasty note. It read this:

_Keep me close. Wherever you go, I’ll be with you._

_Remember: ‘True Strength Is The Power Within’_

Taking the note over to Cullen, I unwound the chain from his wrist. Using the chain to punch a hole through the parchment, I pushed the note all the way down until it lay flush against the talisman. No way could the note get lost.

Happy with my work, I placed the talisman back in his hand and rewound the chain until it was fixed firmly in place. Taking his fingers tenderly, I closed them lovingly around the red stone.

There it shone in the guttering light of Cullen’s lamp.

Kissing him gently on the forehead, like he loved to do to me, I blew out the struggling flame and left the room.

I had business elsewhere.

 

Avoiding any guards on duty, I made my way slowly to the stables. I checked quickly to see if Horsemaster Dennet was around and was about to proceed when his voice sounded from behind me.

“Going for a late night ride?” he asked me, his voice dripping sarcasm.

I spun around, laughing awkwardly and looking instantly guilty. “Well… uh… yeah! You know how Chim gets restless at night…”

Dennet eyed me suspiciously.

“Well- would _you_ wanna walk him?” I pushed eagerly.

Dennet looked past me at two eyes reflecting balefully in the moonlight. All of the other creatures were fast asleep, but that one gave him the heebie-jeebies.

“No,” he said flatly. “I do not. You’re the only one that can control that beast.”

I smiled at him thankfully and moved to release Chimera from his pen. The other Dracolisks shifted uneasily in their sleep, as Chimera stepped past them. Sensing something was amiss, he tossed his head agitatedly and I whispered calming words to him in dragon speech. He calmed instantly.

I walked him out freely into the moonlight, where his black and white scales glinted like stars.

“You taking him out with no tackle?” Dennet asked incredulously.

I nodded my head, not batting an eyelid. “He hates to be shackled in any way. He prefers to be free.”

“Huh…” Dennet said, mollified for a moment, watching Senta leaning against the beast’s side. The beast seemed to instinctively support her. “Hey… wait a minute – aren’t you supposed to be seriously hurt?”

“Dragons heal quick,” I said, lamely dodging his question. Before he could ask more, I walked Chimera towards to gate. Dennet followed us to my chagrin.

The gate guards didn’t ask any questions, thankfully, obviously terrified by the notoriously rambunctious beast coming towards them. Chimera enjoyed their fear and snapped harmlessly at their ankles as he passed, making them squeal like little girls. I could feel him laughing secretly as I leaned against him for support.

I didn’t have the energy to scold him tonight.

The guards seemed to remember their duty as we passed and was about to ask after us, when Dennet interrupted them. “Let her go!” he said in his usual moody baritone. “They’ll most likely be gone ‘til morning. It ain’t the first time.”

The guards nodded and made no move to stop us.

As we passed the gates, I mounted Chimera, trying desperately to hide the pain it caused me. Chim jiggled beneath me in worry, inadvertently making it worse. I managed to sit upright on his back and urged him into an ungainly gait. The movement was sharp and it jiggled me about awfully.

I didn’t look back.

As the gate fell further behind us, I touched my side again and brought my hand into a patch of light to inspect it. The moonlight reflected back at me from a small smear of tacky blood.

“Dammit,” I cursed. “This is going to destroy my stitches…”

I was already exhausted and there was a long way yet to go.

I was heading home.


	44. Separate Ways

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the delay in my most recent upload - I have to admit I've been caught up in the latest game of Persona 5! So addictive!! I'd like to thank my regular readers for staying with me through this amazing journey. Your support means the world to me <3

Brilliant rays of dusty sunlight had broken through the crumbling wall, dappled by the branches of the impinging tree as it fell on Cullen’s sleeping face. He had neither moved nor made a sound since Senta’s visit and he had slept far past the morning bell.

He came to, slowly, blinking through the dust motes with bleary wonder. He watched as the tree bobbed and swayed in a light breeze and wiped the sticky sleep from his eyes.

He sat up groggily and took a moment to look about the room in the new ambiance.

The shafts of light lit the room in an earthly glow, glancing off the trinkets scattered here and there, giving the impression of a treasure trove from a children’s story.

He lifted his hand momentarily to scrub at his face when his attention was drawn downwards by the sound of metal scraping against stone. In his sleep muddled mind, he hadn’t noticed the added weight from the amulet tied to his wrist. He must have fallen asleep still holding it and somehow got it tangled about his arm.

As it swung from its chain, he noticed a piece of parchment attached to it that he hadn’t seen before. It draped forlornly over the inscription engraved on the amulet’s silver face.

Taking hold of it, he gently tore it from its perch and turned it about in his fingers. There was a message scrawled on it in a hand that he recognised.

“What the-“ he said, sitting fully to attention. “… _Keep me close. Wherever you go, I’ll be with you. Remember: ‘True Strength is the Power Within’_ …what is this?”

He turned it over to see if there was anything written on the other side, but there was only the one cryptic note.

For several minutes, Cullen sat and stared at the scrap of parchment held in his hands with dumb bewilderment. Senta couldn’t possibly be leaving him messages – she was bedridden down in the infirmary! He couldn’t fault it, though; this was definitely her handwriting, although it looked scruffy and rushed.

Surely he would have heard her come in? Now, though, he wasn’t so sure. That was the soundest sleep he’d ever had in his life. All he could remember was the beginnings of another nasty nightmare and then… nothing.

He read the untidy scrawl carefully, one more time.

Why did it give him the undeniable impression that she was leaving?

“It can’t be-“ he hissed.

Standing up suddenly, he rushed for the door. 

 

~

 

The Surgeon had busted through the Inquisitor’s bedroom door at first light, in a blind panic, yelling over a lost patient.

The Inquisitor knew instinctively who had gone missing and had pulled herself begrudgingly from her comfortable sheets with an endless stream of expletives. Her fervent curses had continued as she dressed and lasted all the way to the infirmary.

She now stood silently before Senta’s empty bed, running a hand anxiously through her chestnut hair; having spent the last few hours combing over every inch trying to find any trace of where Senta had gone.

There was absolutely nothing; no clue at all.

Had she gone home? The Inquisitor hoped so. After all Senta had been through, she needed to be somewhere familiar. After all, there was no place quite like home.

Right now, though, she had a bigger problem. How was she supposed to explain this to Cullen?

The Inquisitor didn’t have long to wait when the very man she didn’t want to see came hurtling through the door behind her. She spun around guiltily, trying her best to hide the vacant bed with her body.

“Cullen!” she squawked.

He merely stood there, his skin white as paper, devastation spreading across his face like splintering glass.

The Inquisitor dropped her eyes, unable to watch Cullen implode, when she noticed he was holding something; something like a piece of parchment. “What’s that?” She asked, her interest piqued despite the situation.

A coldness flashed across his face and he scrunched the parchment up into his fist that was lying limply by his side. “It’s nothing,” he said vaguely.

There was naught they could do now that their march was scheduled to begin in the next hour, so the Inquisitor quietly moved to leave. As she crossed his path, she placed a gentle hand on his shoulder. He refused to look at her, so she gave a soft squeeze and said, “Wherever she went, she must have had a good reason. She’ll be back – we have to believe that.”

He nodded slightly, inadvertently turning his head towards her as if he could absorb her words of encouragement. She smiled at him sadly and left him staring at Senta’s cot.

When the Inquisitor was gone, Cullen pulled the pendant from the folds of his armour with his free hand and looked at it morosely. “Where have you gone?” he asked the silent room. The red stone set into the pendant flashed strikingly in the bright sunlight.

He eyed the silver dragon and ran a thumb over its intricate scales. A pained groan from one of the other patients snapped him out of his musing and he hurried out into the blinding mid-morning sun.

Across the courtyard, Knight-Captain Denam was performing the last checks before their departure. Cullen was surprised by how late it was – had he really slept for so long? It kept astounding him in the most unexpected ways.

He sighed, deeply disappointed, willing himself not to look back over his shoulder, and instead decided to follow Senta’s advice, hanging the long chain around his neck.

It was heavy and comforting against his skin and it clacked rhythmically on the metal of his armour as he walked towards the awaiting army. It jounced about just shy of his heart and Senta’s words replayed in his mind, bringing a wry smile to his lips.

He had done all he could to save her and now, all he could do was wait for her return. _That’s if_ I _return_ , he thought sardonically as he was beckoned forth by the booming drums of war.

 

~

 

Chemira had managed to make good time, helped along by a strong Westerly wind.

I was grateful that the weather had been clear so far and that the signature blizzards of the Frostback Mountains had been nowhere to be seen.

After leaving the grounds of Skyhold, the two of us had circled around, following an unmarked trail through the mountains.

The going was treacherous, the pathway narrow and uneven; filled with powdery snow ready to break loose at the slightest misstep. However, Chimera’s taloned feet, thick with coarse pads, had made short work of the slippery surfaces; his steps brusque and sure.

Morning had broken, clear and glorious, across the grassy plains of The Dales as we stopped to rest upon a sharp precipice looking out over the ocean of green.

The dull ache in my side had been replaced with a throbbing misery, beating a dreary rhythm against my ribs. I didn’t dare look at my wound; unwilling to acknowledge the damage I was dealing to myself.

I had no medicinal knowledge and I’d left in such haste that I hadn’t thought to bring a supply of curatives. That was neither here nor there; I wanted to look upon my home with mine own eyes, as quickly as possible, and that meant travelling light.

I hissed in a tortured breath as I moved to dismount and steadied myself upon his back as the world around me pitched sideways and faded into a fuzzy, lifeless grey.

Chimera’s worried snicker warbled up to me as my legs clenched tightly against his sides.

“I’m fine…” I whispered in human speech, easing my grip as the throbbing slowed to a more manageable level. I couldn’t manage to speak in dragon tongue; the vibration alone would be enough to undo me. “I… I can’t get down. We’ll have to rest like this…”

He tossed his head with an aggravated hiss boiling in his throat and began tenderly threading his way down the narrow slope that led out into the plains below.

“Rest?” that hiss said. “Who needs rest?”

I stroked the spines running across Chimera’s neck with a loving hand, once more grateful for his quarrelsome nature. He was never one for being told what to do.

At this pace, we’d surely make the Arbor Wilds in half the time.

Trying to ignore my worsening condition, with images of my village lying pillaged and devastated running wild in my mind, I could only pray that I would make it.

 

~

 

The army was in full march, with thousands of feet thundering their way across Gulcher’s Pass. Startling sunlight glanced off Inquisition steel as young children rushed from their homes to watch them pass.

The size of the Inquisition’s forces was truly staggering and the pride of leading such a formidable power was usually exhilarating.

But not today.

Cullen walked at the fore, his dark expression hidden behind his legendary lion helm. His eyes peaked out from behind metallic fangs, far away and brooding.

At first, he didn’t hear Cassandra’s voice, as she tried to hail him, until she barked his name and shoved him roughly on the shoulder. He looked over at her with an offended expression and was met with her steadfast look of expectation.

“Uh… what?” he said apologetically, feeling increasingly uncomfortable under her penetrating stare.

“I swear; your head is in the clouds!” she chided stroppily at Cullen’s clueless face. “I said: you’re looking a lot better!”

“I- I am? I mean- yes I am.”

Cassandra looked at him as if he’d grown another head.

“I’m sorry,” he said, fiddling with his longsword in embarrassment. “I’ve been a tad distracted of late…”

“I can see that,” she replied with a no-nonsense scowl. Sighing heavily, she added, almost as an afterthought, “I’m sorry she left. Although, it’s probably for the best; having a dragon in the Inquisition could prove quite troublesome.”

He spun to look at her, unable to believe what he’d just heard. Cassandra just continued to watch him carefully, unmoving in her beliefs.

He turned his head away and gritted his teeth against the sudden flare of anger that flashed through him. It flickered and died almost as soon as it came. Unwilling to let go just yet, he mumbled through the padding of his helmet, “I didn’t see you there offering yourself up to save her.”

Without skipping a beat, she replied curtly, “I have my reasons.”

They walked together in step for a while, each keeping a stubborn silence. Cassandra rolled her eyes at the sky and took a deep breath. The others were always telling her how abrupt she was and that she should try to refrain from being so frigid.

She clenched her hand into a fist by her side; ugh, this was such a nuisance! Keeping their admonitions in mind, she tried again to steer the conversation in a more amicable direction. “…How goes your battle against lyrium?”

Cullen didn’t reply for a long while, leading Cassandra to believe that her question would go unanswered. She couldn’t read his expression, being unable to see a damn thing through that helm of his. Only the side of his stubbled cheek was visible, while the rest of his face was cloaked in shadow.

In truth, Cullen had been caught off guard. His mind had been filled with questions from Senta’s desertion and preparations for their march had kept him too busy to worry over his addiction. He had to marvel over Senta’s intrigue; she had planned her departure perfectly.

Now that he stopped to think about it, he hadn’t experienced any symptoms of lyrium withdrawal since he woke up that morning. He’d gone about his business as per usual, a little confused and hurt, but overall in top condition. What the hell had happened to him that night?

He remembered then that Cassandra had asked him a question and he fumbled to answer it. “I’m fine- I mean I haven’t felt a thing,” he said, bewildered. “It’s almost as if it’s just… disappeared.”

“Uh-huh…” Cassandra responded, sceptical and he nodded firmly to reiterate his point. “Well…” she continued, nodding to herself, “we’ll keep monitoring your progress.”

Respecting Cullen’s reticence, she bobbed her head in a stiff farewell and began to melt back into the crowd behind them. She stopped herself for a moment and came back into view. “Despite our differences,” she called, “I _am_ sorry that Senta decided to leave us. She was a good woman.” She shook her head disbelievingly “A fire breathing dragon, but still, a good woman.”

Cullen appreciated her effort and bowed gently in acceptance as Cassandra was finally lost among the crowd.

Walking alone again, he reached inside his armour and brought out the pendant that had been tucked safely away. He once again stroked the silvery scales with his thumb and wondered how Senta was fairing.

Truth be told, he was terrified for her. Her injuries were grave, requiring special care and time to heal. They definitely would not stand up to gallivanting off to Maker-knows-where on the back of a boisterous, feral Dracolisk.

He sighed, letting the pendant fall back into place against his chest. Staring up into the clear, blue sky, he sent up a prayer that - wherever she was – she was safe.


	45. Not Your Usual Homecoming

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one is only a short chapter, but I hope you enjoy it nevertheless xx

Lengthy blades of scratchy grass whispered at my legs as we pushed ever onward and the sun beat down upon us with relentless glee.

We were ambling slowly through the outskirts of the vast, lush valleys of the Dales; the last Elven territory to be pried from their cold, dying fingers. It was now a playground for Orlesian royalty, where its spoiled children fought over juvenile spats and petty blood-rights.

The land we were travelling through was largely untouched, but further in, the ground grew blackened and tainted; destroyed by a blood-feud still raging between Orlais’ current Empress, Celene de Valmont, and her cousin, Grand Duke Gaspard de Chalons.

The journey had become a mindless blur as I bobbed about on Chimera’s back, like a boneless sack of meat, with the harsh mountain trail several days ride behind us.

My wound had since reopened and my bandages had soaked through, dripping a ghastly track down Chimera’s scaly hide.

The dead were known to rise around these parts and the acrid smell of burning flesh stung my nose. I could see the vague shapes of dark plumes, through my pain-induced haze, tainting the sky in the distance; rising from funeral pyres of fallen soldiers.

The undead were the only thing that could truly unnerve me; whatever died should stay well and truly inanimate.

I moaned inconsolably, uncomfortably aware of how close we were to their borders. I could practically hear their shambling footsteps.

Chimera remained persistent, steadily taking one step at a time. Fatigue pulled at his legs, as if the soil itself was trying to reach up and suck him underground; but the coppery smell of his master’s blood saturating his nostrils spurred him on.

Far ahead of us, the edge of the Arbor Wilds spread across the horizon like a brooding wall of secrets. The trees and foliage clumped together, protecting its depths with a jealousy that was almost menacing.

Nestled within those boughs, in the deepest part of the forest, was our home.

 

I didn’t even notice when we passed underneath the protective canopy of leaves, weaving to and fro past ancient roots. Chills rushed through my body from the blood that I had lost and my delusional mind took the mounting shade of the forest to be death himself hounding our footsteps.

Air rushed and whistled through Chimera’s nostrils and foam dripped from his fangs. Having refused to rest even once throughout our entire journey, exhaustion had almost claimed him; but the scent of familiar territory was strong.

 

~

 

Alek sat peacefully at the base of his favourite tree, away from the hustle and bustle of the village centre, poring over his latest carving.

It was a petite thing, poised delicately between his fingers as he shaved gently away at a stubborn spot that refused to come just right.

It was a dragon, its wings spread wide with its minute head flung back in a triumphant roar.

Alek’s trip to the Fade had intensified his love for the little girl he’d sewn that doll for all those years ago. She still took it with her wherever she went, although it was now missing an eye and the stuffing had all but disappeared.

Peri was now nine years old, and the little figurine he was working on was to be a present for her tenth birthday.

A commotion coming from behind some trees nearby disturbed his concentration and as he looked up, a small, lithe woman burst into his refuge. She stumbled into the clearing, her arms pin-wheeling to keep her from falling flat on her face.

“Fennek, what in the world-” he shouted in surprise.

Her platinum blonde hair was cropped tightly against her head, but her long fringe, dyed a deep violet, flopped foolishly across her eyes.

She blew her hair out of her face and looked up at him with wide eyes, which were encompassed with dark, lightening style tattoos.

“Where’s Farook?” he asked, completely bewildered.

Farook was Fennek’s dragon counterpart. The power of thunder was their element and they were as fast as lightening; the fastest scouts in the entire camp.

“You need to come with me,” she said urgently, pulling relentlessly at his arm. Alek tried to argue, demanding an explanation, but she stamped on his foot spitefully, eliciting a pained groan. “Will you shut up and just come with me?”

He bit his lip angrily and followed after Fennek as she ran off towards the village fore. Almost immediately she began to pull ahead, disappearing into the brush, leaving Alek in a swirl of confusion.

Even from where he was, he could hear a ruckus coming from the direction of the village. It had the smell of panic and the thumping of feet was frantic. He wondered vaguely how he hadn’t heard it before.

Needless to say, Alek picked up his pace.

 

When he emerged from the trees, he was shocked to see the entire village in complete disarray. Throngs of people had congregated in the centre of the clearing, with several people dashing to and fro.

“What is going on here?” he roared over the hubbub.

Everyone stopped at once and spun to stare at him. They parted slowly, forming a ramshackle path towards some unseen horror.

He walked slowly, as if in a dream; as if the Fade had risen from the ground and swallowed him once again. He followed a slight, surreal curve of bodies that felt endless, with watching eyes on either side, coming to dread what was at the end.

Before he had time to prepare himself, the end came upon him suddenly.

Chimera stood in the middle of the gathering, his head lowered in fatigue, foamy spittle dripping from his mouth. Alek took a few hesitant steps, shaking his head in bewildered denial.

Senta was unconscious, slumped precariously across Chimera’s back, with thick blood caking his scaly hide.

All at once, as Alek looked on in horror, she began to slide. Before he knew it, he was at her side, cradling her as he eased her to the ground. Chimera’s legs shook alarmingly and he grunted, his breath hitching in his chest.

Recovering his composure, Alek urgently began barking orders, deeply disturbed by the extent of the wound in Senta’s side. “Find the medic!” he roared, “And someone give this brave beast a drink of water and a place to rest!”

Laying his hand gently on Chimera’s flank, he uttered a heartfelt thank you to him before a hand from the crowd led him away. Alek tried to ignore the tremor he’d felt there.

“Hold on, Senta,” he whispered to his childhood friend. “I’ve got you.”

At that moment, as Alek knelt, supporting Senta in his lap, the medic appeared by his side. He quickly surveyed the damage under Alek’s apprehensive gaze and leant over to speak into Alek’s ear. “We need to get her somewhere private immediately. Her injury needs urgent attention- she’s already lost an immeasurable amount of blood!”

Without further encouragement, Alek whisked Senta up off the ground and pivoted towards the rabble of onlookers. Their eyes followed him, filled with unrest and worry. Seeing their Alpha in such an awful state was incredibly alarming and they feared for her safety.

“As acting Beta, I suggest you all return to your duties!” He called in a clear, authoritative voice. A chorus of fractious shouts rang out from the crowd and Alek responded in a thunderous growl. The throng fell silent immediately, hanging their heads in submission.

Senta’s weight felt heavy in his arms; a stark reminder of the urgency of their situation. Shifting her weight gently to better his grip upon her shoulders, he calmed his voice when he spoke again. “I know you are concerned for your Alpha’s safety - and believe me, I am too - and I appreciate your fervour, however, right now, she needs our urgent attention.” Murmuring followed and a collective shudder ran through them like a wave. “Return to your duties,” he repeated, “and we will give you news as soon as our Alpha’s condition is stable.”

Without waiting to see their reaction, he spun on his heel and disappeared in the direction of the quietest section of the village; towards the clinic.

 

The medic, Falron, had gone ahead to clear away any clutter and had sanitised some tools he thought he’d need for the coming procedure.

As Alek pushed through the vines and flowers that served as a partition to the world outside, Falron directed him towards a stone plinth that stood prominently in the centre of the room. “Lay her here,” he said, motioning to the uninviting slab of granite.

Alek was unconcerned; having spent many hours on that very table in his childhood, he knew it to be weirdly comfortable, shaped lovingly to embrace the contours of the body. By dragon fire, he had been a boisterous boy in his younger years.

A reminiscent smile touched his lips as he laid Senta tenderly upon the chill surface, but it was forgotten instantly when she shifted fitfully, her bleary eyes finding his fierce ones; looking blindly upon him. She turned from him then, muttering about something “red” and “foul.”

Alek chewed at the inside of his cheek, shifting uncomfortably from one foot to the other. He looked to Falron and grimaced awkwardly, “Something’s telling me she’s not talking about my hair…”

Falron gave him a withering look and shushed Senta until she calmed and fell back into unconsciousness. “Help me,” is all he said to Alek, beginning to tear away her clothes for better access of her wound. When the area was clear, Falron cleaned the wound thoroughly with swabs dipped in an intense, pure alcohol. The smell of its fumes burnt Alek’s nose, but regardless, he helped to keep Falron’s workspace free of obstruction.

The wound slowly made itself known and the pair eventually drew back in quiet astonishment.

“What happened to her, Falron?”

Falron remained quiet for a moment, probing at the wound, examining the damage with his keen eyes. “This was a dragon bite,” he said finally, straightening to regard Alek with a critical air, “but such as I have never seen.”

“ _Was?”_ Alek stressed.

Falron shook his head, perturbed. “See around the edges?” he said, pointing to where Senta’s skin fell away in crisp lines. “Her skin has been cut with a sharp knife, probably to discard dead or diseased flesh to help the wound heal.” He also pointed out remnants of stitches that remained. “She had already been seen to – and the work is… remarkable…”

“It must have come from her battle with Valtok... he always had a profound set of jaws…” Alek remarked, remembering how he had arrived in the infirmary all those times. Valtok had always been as headstrong as he. “Well…” he continued, his mood darkening. “It’s good to know the Inquisition takes care of their injured…”

He still hadn’t forgiven the grand organisation for luring their leader away and for their little escapade in the Fade.

Falron rolled his eyes. “But here, these holes were not made from dragons teeth“

Alek looked closer and tried to hide the urgent need to recoil. Falron was pointing directly at the very spot where the red lyrium had been protruding from Senta’s body as he had seen in the Fade.

Alek had hoped that the vision he had seen in the Fade had been just a dream, but it seemed that the effects were all too real. He swallowed deliberately and shrugged his shoulders nonchalantly; red lyrium was unknown to his kin and he was not about to start a widespread panic. “Perhaps it is a tusk injury?” he ventured. “Valtok had hefty tusks…”

“Perhaps…” Falron allowed. He was by no means appeased, but he knew when Alek was unwilling to talk and trying to squeeze information out of him was like trying to extract blood from a stone. Alek would talk when he was good and ready and Falron would ensure that he was present when he did.

Moving to his next concern, he said, “The real question is _why_ Senta would risk such injury to herself when her wound had not yet fully healed. The journey here has destroyed whatever stitching was in place and has torn the wound open once again.”

“Now _that_ is something we can ask her when she wakes up!” Alek said jubilantly, slapping Falron smartly on the shoulder, relieved that the awkward conversation had been averted. “I believe in your ability! You’ve fixed me up more times than I can count with nary a scar!”

“Indeed…” Falron replied, rolling his shoulder contemptuously.

Grabbing a needle and thread, he tersely ordered Alek to begin cleaning up their mess and bent to work with the tip of his needle poised.


End file.
